Alfred Jones and the Curse of the Pharaoh
by Abarero
Summary: Taking a page from his Hollywood hero Indiana Jones, America, along with England, sets off on an adventure that takes them deep into an Egyptian tomb. But once they seemingly incur the wrath of the Pharaoh, it'll be no easy task to escape unharmed. UK/US.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: Written for sakuratsukikage as a part of livejournal's _usxuk community Secret Santa_.

Also, a major thank you to Kel my amazing beta-reader and the book_ The Lost Tomb_ by Kent Weeks for inspiration. Indiana Jones fans, this one's for you guys!

* * *

**Alfred Jones and the Curse of the Pharaoh: Chapter 1**

**

* * *

  
**

"And so, that is how adventurer and hero extraordinaire- Alfred Jones – found himself running for his life. Bringing you awesomely up-to-date on the situation, here's a quick rundown of our perilous adventure so far!

After finally discovering the whereabouts of Professor Lucas Hamill, the only man known to have information, we set out to this remote island. It seems the good ole Professor has had several threats on his life over this info and we tried our best to explain to him that with us, it would be in good hands. We're not interested in a giant ruby or immortality or whatever the other rumors might say it is. We seek this for the adventure. The thrill of the hunt and the archaeological importance of finally reuniting all the pieces is our prize.

But, well, you know how crazy old Professors can be. So he wouldn't hear anything of it and set the local tribesmen on us. Lucky for us- and for the sake of archeology! – the great and awesome me, managed to snatch up his notebook while my companion created a diversion.

And this is why, at the moment, hero and adventurer Alfred Jones is running like mad for his plane on the beach. The question now is, can he survive this current peril? Will he ever find the mysterious _Heart of Osiris_? Will he…"

"Ever bloody shut up and keep running?" A proper British voice cut in.

America grinned, flipping his handheld voice recorder off and shoving it into his pocket. "Oh come on, England." They took a quick swerve right, just missing a shower of darts. "It'll make an awesome adventure novel!"

England rolled his eyes. Grabbing America's wrist, he yanked him behind a tree as the bevy of hasty footsteps approached. "Look. I know you think it utterly brilliant that your 'name' happens to sound like a famous Hollywood adventurer. I get that. But I'm quite sure 'Alfred Jones' can put better use to his time at the moment than narrating for himself!"

A spear hit the tree they were behind and England turned right, shielding America from the spray of tree bark that erupted from the spear's impact. America nodded, sliding a hand up behind England's back and holding him close as the footsteps drew near. Leaning down, he whispered, "Sorry. I just got caught up in the heat of things."

"You usually do," England retorted; but there was a hint of a smile in his tone.

On not being met with any other spears, America chanced peering around the remains of the tree. Looking out into the dense jungle that surrounded them, he clutched the Professor's notebook tighter in his hand. They'd worked for _years_ to find where and who might have this information. The final piece to the golden Osiris. It had started as a casual hobby and turned into a full-blown pastime for both of them; using the down time between meetings and their other duties as countries to go adventuring and exploring like they had back in the hey-day of exploration. "It's rather nice to get out and live a little," England had remarked once. And America had to agree. Gosh was he so glad he had England along with him. It would be fun no matter what, but having his partner with him? Made it totally awesome.

"The plane's not too far," England's voice cut into his thoughts.

America nodded, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. It was times like these when his veins were thrumming with adrenaline that the worst case scenario seemed utterly hilarious. "Let's hope they haven't figured out that's our only way off this island."

Wiping the sweat off his brow, England took the notebook from America, stuffing it into the satchel he was carrying. With a smile, he held out his hand. "I suppose we'll just have to run for it then?"

If possible, America grinned wider. Reaching out, he took England's hand and laced their fingers together. Giving a quick squeeze, he replied, "Gotta love the running."

They bolted forward, their sudden motion drawing unwanted attention. Ducking, dodging and swerving (but never once letting go) they made for their two-seater biplane on the beach.

Another rain of darts and spears came, this time with one almost hitting its mark.

"Shit!" America cursed, clutching at his arm. "What did the Prof tell them to get them so pissed off?"

They came to a momentary halt, finally letting go to tend to the wound. It had just grazed him along his upper bicep, but the blood was already beginning to flow. America heard the rip of fabric to his left, a strip of England's khaki shirt being thrust into his field of vision.

"Quickly now, we're almost there. I'll go on ahead and get the plane started."

Nodding, America took the makeshift bandage and started to wrap his arm. England made a dash for the plane, sloshing through the shallow waters out to it and clambering up into the open cockpit.

_And here I had questioned America's use of the N3N Canary seaplane. It figures we'd get ourselves into a predicament in which an open cockpit is to our advantage._

Placing the satchel that held their prized information inside safely under the second seat, England settled into the pilot's seat. That's when he heard America's voice calling out a warning.

"England, get down!"

He ducked just in time, narrowly avoiding the darts as they hit the plane. Keeping his head low, England started flipping the levers and let the biplane's engine roar to life. The sound of it echoed across the beach, a flock of birds rising from the nearby trees at the noise. Over the din, England called to the younger country who was running down the beach with the tribesmen hot on his trail.

"Come on, Mr. Adventurer. Step it up now!"

America raced forward, grabbing onto the edge of the back seat and gesturing at England to start flying. As he taxied it out over the water, America pulled himself into the backseat and plopped down right as the plane started its rise into the sky.

"Good girl, Ellie!" America said, patting the side of the plane. England cleared his throat. "And thank you England for the awesome rescue."

"You'd better."

They glanced back at the beach they'd just left. Whether they'd given up or were frightened off by the plane, their pursuers had fled. America heaved a sigh of relief.

"That was close."

"Y-Yeah."

Blue eyes went wide at the quake in his voice. "England?" America leaned forward, the plane lurching as England's head started to loll to the side. "England!"

The Briton's hands had slipped from the wheel and the plane started to shake. America grabbed England quickly under the arms, lifting him into the back seat. Settling him down as quickly as possible, America precariously balanced on the plane as it started to nosedive. He slid forward into the pilot's seat, fingers fast over the levers, quickly righting the plane and stabilizing it. With a shuddering breath, he switched on the autopilot.

Swiveling around in his seat, America examined England. He could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, and his heartbeat was normal. That's when America noticed the small dart embedded in the older country's shoulder. America pulled it out and examined it. It was blue tipped, a sleeping dart. Nothing harmful. Letting out his breath in relief, America ruffled England's hair.

"You can be quite the hero sometimes, you know that England?"

And with a bit of a wistful smile tugging on his lips, America turned around and started the flight to their next destination.

* * *

America flew them to Australia's house. It wasn't too far a flight from the island, and most of all, it was safe. The other country had accompanied them on a couple of adventures in the past, and America knew that given the top-secret nature of their quest, Australia was someone they could trust.

There was a different type of trust between fellow adventurers. Not so much just the 'don't tell anyone' aspect, but also the 'don't go after this yourself, it's my quarry' element. Australia could be trusted in full.

"Okay mate, slow up and explain this to me again. You're after a heart?"

America grinned, taking another sip of the Foster's beer he'd been given before starting in on the tale. "It's not just any heart. You know the legend behind Osiris right?"

"Old Egyptian god, got murdered by Set and cut into bits. Went on to become their god of the Afterlife?"

America replied. "Yep, that's the one."

"Didn't a fish eat the bloke's donger?"

They both snickered.

"My word, you two," England interjected. He took the proffered teacup Australia was holding out to him and nodded his thanks.

"Jeez England, you tell the stodgy proper version then," America retorted, sticking out his tongue. Australia just shook his head.

"It's like this Australia. In the story, Isis gathered up all the pieces of Osiris and reunited them. Everyone knows that part. But the lesser known matter is that she created a golden Osiris, all the parts divided, and scattered them to several locations. These locations then became the centers for the Cult of Osiris. The rumor is, if all those fourteen pieces are reunited, it gives the owner immortality."

"Or a giant ruby," America added. "Some rumors say that too."

Australia took a sip of his own beer. "Hmm. Well that sounds right troublesome. Bound to have loads of nutters after it with that kind of rumor."

"As you might have guessed, we have recovered all but this final piece. The Heart of Osiris," England continued.

With a grin at America, he asked, "So you got the golden donger already?"

America piped up, "Oh yeah. You are looking at the proud owners of Osiris's golden cock!"

England groaned, rubbing between his eyebrows to stave off an oncoming headache. The two could be downright immature once they put their minds to it.

"Now see here. We cannot arse around here all day and exchange juvenile humor. If Professor Hamill maintained any contacts or was dead set on retrieving the Heart himself, we have to move quickly. Once our gear is loaded in the plane and we have our packs full of supplies, we need to head out immediately. If possible, we should stay in the tomb entrance tonight and guard it."

"England," America's tone turned serious. "Are you sure? I'm sure a few more days wouldn't hurt and…"

"America. You can stop your fussing over the sleeping dart. I suffered much worse when I explored Africa with Livingstone along with Scotland. Half of which, at the hands of Scotland himself," England said firmly, setting his empty teacup aside.

"England's right, America," Australia added. "Other adventurers can turn right nasty if you tango with their goods. You two had best skedaddle."

America sighed in resignation. "All right, if you say so. Australia actually got us all packed up while you slept, so we're ready to go."

England stood up and turned to Australia. "Are you interested in joining us? We could always use another pair of hands."

Australia chuckled. "No way, mate. I'm not being the third wheel. This has 'Couple's Weekend' written all over it."

The pair blushed, and America rubbed the back of his head. "Well, it's just… you know Indiana Jones has Marion."

"Excuse me!"

America grinned. "Come on England. You're not a kid, a ditzy singer, or my son." With a grimace he added, "And you are _definitely_ not my father."

With a resigned sigh, and a glare at the smirking Australia, England replied, "Fine. I'll be Marion. But I'm not wearing a dress, so don't get any funny ideas."

Throwing an arm around him, America smiled. "Awesome! It's a good thing I packed my fedora and whip then."

England rolled his eyes. "All right then, Indiana. Grab your blasted hat and whip and let's get this bloody show on the road."

* * *

They arrived in Egypt in the evening, just as the sun had begun to set. Mingling in with the residual crowds flocking to the Valley of the Kings, the two stealthily made their way towards the tomb designated as KV5. It wasn't one open to the public, which was both good and bad. Good because that meant they didn't have to deal with tourists, bad because that meant they'd have to be as inconspicuous as possible when they snuck under the ropes and entered it.

"We kind of stand out with our large backpacks, you know," England had muttered under his breath.

Thankfully, a loud merchant across the road from them was drawing the crowd's attention. When they were mostly certain not a soul was watching, they crept over into KV5- the final resting place for the sons of Ramesses II. America and England shared a triumphant smile as they stole under the ropes and made their way into the tomb.

They were here. They hadn't been followed. And now, it was only a matter of time before the Heart of Osiris was in their collection.

"Ah, America," England called out, drawing America's attention from the carvings on the wall in the Passage of Re.

"Yeah?"

England flushed. This hall would be the last in which the sunlight from the outside could reach, and right now, those last red-toned hues of sunset only made the country appear even more flustered than he was.

Once America reached his side, England cleared his throat and reached over to clasp his hand. Raising his eyes to the ceiling, England pointed up with his free hand.

"I wanted you to see this."

America's eyes found the smudged black on the ceiling with his flashlight, the words clear despite how old the date placed them at.

_Burton. 1825._

"James Burton was the first to map this place back then. Wrote that up there with the smoke of his candle. Brilliant British Egyptologist and well, I thought his notes might help us on our quest so I…"

He pulled his hand away and rifled through his satchel, finally pulling out a battered piece of parchment. "It's a copy loaned to me from the British Museum. Never guessed we'd end up in one of his tombs, but he's mapped the first couple of chambers for us."

A wide grin broke on America's face and he hugged England tight and warm against him. "That's freaking awesome, England!"

He pecked a quick kiss to his partner's lips and leaned over to peer at the rough map England held. "Okay, so what do we have here? Standard New Kingdom layout?"

"Seems like it. But he's put down this hall up ahead with sixteen pillars in it. It's the last chamber he noted, since it seems he only made it as far as that doorway," England explained, pointing it out on the sketch.

"That's a lot more pillars than usual. Maybe because this is for the Pharaoh's sons rather than the Pharaoh himself?" America theorized. As much as he'd read about and personally explored Egyptian tombs, this was definitely a new attribute.

"Possibly. I suppose the hieroglyphs in that room might tell us something. But, it's getting late and we'll need our strength for tomorrow. If we just make it into the next chamber, past this door, we should be able to guard it sufficiently without anyone noticing."

"All right!" America replied, pumping his fist. "Sleep first, adventure second."

England chuckled as they approached the large wooden door. It was sealed with a sliding bolt and a wax impression over it. It had obviously only been tampered with, rather crudely, by candle once before. "Looks like Burton passed through here with a candle, so the next chamber should be safe enough."

Nodding, America slid the bolt aside and tugged it loose from the broken wax seal. The doors creaked open and he felt the cool tomb air hit him in the face. A shudder of excitement mingled with a tiny little tinge of fear trickling down his spine. _There are no ghosts here. No living mummies or things like that. I'm a hero and I can totally handle this!_

Swinging the door open, he walked in and looked around the wide corridor. It was flanked on either side by rows of statues of various gods. He noticed with excitement that one was Osiris and several others were the gods and goddesses that played a part in his story. Isis, Horus, Set.

"I think we might be on the right path, England."

He nodded, looking around as he set up their lantern and unpacked their sleeping bags. "Certainly does. Although a great deal of worship of Osiris did take place during this period, so who knows. But, still, a good sign."

They exchanged an excited smile, both of them eager to venture deeper into the cave, but at the same time knowing they needed a good night's sleep first. Kicking off their boots, they settled down into their sleeping bags and glanced around at the carved faces of the statues in the lantern light.

"It's almost as if they're watching us," America said; half-serious, half-joking.

England sighed in exasperation. "Now don't go thinking they're going to spring to life in the middle of the night and kill us."

America laughed nervously. "No way! They're just…watching over us. Yeah! That's it!"

Reaching over between their sleeping bags, England clasped his hand and gave it a squeeze. "Watching over us, that's right. Now go to sleep, America."

America squeezed his hand back, but he didn't let go. "G'night, England."

* * *

They woke early, both rather excited to continue on their quest. America especially was up and relatively bouncy, topping off his light khaki shirt and dark khaki pants with a brown fedora and a whip at his waist. He shot a cocksure grin at England, who rolled his eyes.

"I swear you are never happy to be up this early unless it's an adventure or Christmas."

America adjusted his fedora and smiled. "Or Comic-con."

"Oh yes, that. Forgot how bloody early you dragged me to _that_," England remarked, tugging on his boots over his khaki trousers.

Up the corridor, towards the tomb's entrance, there was a loud rumbling noise. America and England froze, both listening intently.

"Thunder?"

"Or a loud tourist bus. But it seems a might bit early for that."

A little wary now, they remained mostly silent as they packed up their sleeping bags and ate breakfast; each and every noise from the surface causing them to pause and glance at the wooden door to the chamber they were in.

Slurping down the last of his cereal, America mumbled, "I really hope we weren't followed. Maybe we should have told Egypt we were coming and had him help divert attention..."

England sighed. "The last time we asked Egypt to help we had to buy loads of rubbish pottery off of him before he would agree to it. No, I'm certain it's thunder or something else. If we'd been followed, we would know by now."

"I hope you're right England, I really really do."

According to Burton's map, they would next enter the Hall of Hindering. America always strangely looked forward to that aspect of Egyptian tombs, while England always found it a bit of a bother. Sure enough, once they'd loaded up their things and opened the next door, they found the pathway leading directly into a large and deep well-shaft.

Gazing across, there were two pillars bordering what looked like a solid wall. But with the right inflection of a flashlight's beam, England was able to reveal the minuscule shadows that meant it was a hidden door leading ahead. Now, the tricky matter was getting across.

"Looks like it's about fifteen feet across," America noted.

England frowned. "Yes and there's no way we can cross five meters of space with our minimal supplies. We'll have to scale down into the shaft, cross the bottom and climb up the other side."

"Oh wow, England!" America exclaimed, standing right on the edge and glancing down. "This one's really deep. At least as deep as it is wide, if not more."

"And it appears to be rather finely decorated as well, although that's been faded with age."

They set about climbing down, using their two heavy packs as weights to hold their ropes in place as they scaled down. America volunteered to go first, recklessly dropping down and swinging a bit as he lowered himself to the well-shaft's bottom.

His feet hit the base and he called up. "Come on England, I'll catch you!"

"It's not that I _need_ catching," England said as he grabbed up the rope. "It's that you find this whole swinging about on a thin rope business brilliant fun; while I, since I am in my right mind, find it to be a bit tedious and to be done with proper caution."

As he started to scale down the side, America kept the rope steady and waited. "You can let go at any time now. You're down far enough."

England peered over his shoulder, and met America's eyes. He exhaled, closed his eyes and let go.

Strong and familiar arms caught him, and England allowed himself a brief moment just to linger in America's embrace before he opened his eyes again.

Of course, America was beaming down at him. "Hello, England."

England, despite himself, smiled back. "Hallo, America."

Gently, America lowered England's feet to the ground and they set about yanking their packs down into the pit with them. Their backpacks hit with a thud, but a louder and more ominous noise followed.

"England…" America said suspiciously, his eyes darting towards the chamber they'd just left.

"It's just thunder. Or the busses or…" He trailed off as the rumbling grew louder, the sound of rushing water reaching their ears.

"Flood," America gasped.

They could hear it now, sloshing down through the tomb entrance and easily pushing aside the doors by force. There was no way they could climb out of the deep well-shaft in time; the floodwaters would be on top of them in mere moments. England took a deep breath and turned to America.

"America, hold onto me and no matter what, don't let me go."

America wrapped his arms tight around him and England did the same, clasping him tight. Blue eyes darted up at the doors to the chamber that had just flown open due to the strength of the floodwater. America pressed a quick kiss to England's forehead, and with a defiant gleam in his eyes, he looked back up at the rushing rapids headed straight for them.

"Bring it on, water. _Bring it on_!"


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes: Thanks for the comments! Here's part 2 :)

* * *

**Alfred Jones and the Curse of the Pharaoh: Chapter 2**

* * *

The deluge of floodwater burst over them with incredible force, rushing down over their heads, quickly filling the deep shaft and dousing their lantern. In the darkness, England felt his feet sweep out from under him, clutching fiercely to America's warm body amidst the cool water. The force of the water slammed into them, knocking the wind from their lungs as it pulled them under the raging current.

_I cannot let go. I cannot let him go,_ England's thoughts raced. His fingers went numb from grasping so tightly to America, but he was adamant in not letting himself be torn away from him. They would be each other's only hope in this dire predicament.

But the water was violent and brutal in its descent into the pit, thundering up against them with such power and tugging them deeper into the swirling abyss that was once a dry well shaft. America made a desperate gasp for air as he surfaced momentarily amidst the chaos, trying with his brute strength to pull England above the water as well, if only for a moment, so he too could take a breath. But the water beat down upon them, like an overflowing waterfall, trapping them in the four walls with nowhere to run.

England felt his lungs aching for air, his whole chest throbbing in pain for lack of oxygen. Kicking with all the strength he had, he managed to surface for a mere moment. He thankfully took a gulp of air in before the water pulled him back under.

His limbs were growing heavy and the water was showing no signs of stopping its barrage anytime soon. They had to get out now. There was no choice; it was just a harsh reality.

"A-America…" He stammered as they both managed to surface, both struggling their hardest to keep themselves there. Fumbling in his pocket, England pulled out a flashlight and turned it on. "Waterproof, thank goodness. Now listen America, we need to climb up. One of us first, can pull up the other…"

The water yanked them under once more, and they came up spitting it out. America's hair was plastered to his face, and he managed a brief smile despite it all. "Okay. I'm getting you out first then."

"Oh bollocks you will. I'm saving you this time, you bloody hero," England stated firmly over the roar of the water. He shoved him away and made a valiant effort to swim for the small ledge by the hidden door. Blue eyes blinked in shock as England tossed his flashlight up onto the edge and started to clamber up the side, his knuckles white as he gripped tightly to the rock.

America followed, swimming against the current with all his might, until he was back beside England. He made to reach for him, to give him a hand up to the ledge, when a sharp tug on his leg dragged him under the waves. England turned at his yelp, green eyes wide with fear as moments passed into minutes without any sign of America.

Letting go of the ledge, he dove into the depths. He strained his eyes against the murky water, searching for any sign of him in the dimly lit depths. That's when he spotted him.

_You…you…idiot!_

England swam down to help him, the idiot, who was trying to grab both of their backpacks and pull them up with him. He was about to give him a glare, when he noticed the rope tangled around America's ankle. Okay, so he wasn't being a _complete_ idiot. England reached into America's boot, feeling about until his fingertips gripped the top of the knife he'd seen America tuck in there that morning when they'd dressed.

He pulled it out and handed it off to America, who hastily started cutting away the ropes. Relief washed over them both as the rope was cut in two, America's leg now free. Each of them gathered up a backpack in their arms and kicked off the bottom to swim upwards.

The flashlight on the ledge flickered over the water's turbulent surface, and suddenly the murky dirt-stained water began to darken. At first England feared that the flashlight had been knocked loose, their source of light and hope pushed off the ledge by the waves. But that's when he felt America's hand at his arm, as he pointed at where the darkness had originated.

They surfaced moments later; both of them gaping at the blood red water that was now flowing in through the doorway. Without a word, they hastened to the ledge. England heaved up the bags one by one, and then America helped him up.

Finding his footing on the narrow lip of it, England gripped America's forearm tightly and hauled him up. The strength of the tug overbalanced them, and they both went tumbling into the doorway, which opened at their weight. With a thud, they hit the tomb's cool stone floor in the next corridor.

America stood quickly, grabbed up their things and shoved them clear of the door, before he slammed the door closed behind them. Wordlessly, he picked up England and staggered one more chamber ahead.

"America…"

"J-Just a second…"

He fumbled with the latch, the wax seal on the door sticking a bit as he tried to shove it open. Finally, another empty chamber between them and the raging waters, America sat England down and collapsed beside him.

"E-England…the water…it, it was…" He gulped, his face suddenly white in fear. "It went red."

England nodded, taking a deep breath and shivering a bit due to his soaked clothes. "It just suddenly…"

"Turned blood red."

They fell silent, England scooting over next to America and wrapping his shaking arms around him. "You're all right then? Just shaken?"

He nodded. "Yeah. You?"

"Yeah. I'm quite dandy."

America snorted, a smile finally surfacing back on his face. "England, we were just about drowned in a dark chamber by water that suddenly turned to blood. And you're _just dandy_?"

England shrugged, nuzzling a bit into the crook of America's neck and cherishing the warmth there. "It's not as bad as the incident in the Amazon at least?"

Chuckling, America opened one of their backpacks and dug around until he unearthed a sleeping bag and pulled it out. "Yeah. This time we were at least prepared with waterproof bags and a flashlight. Oh, and no piranhas. That sucked _so_ badly."

Wrapping the sleeping bag around them, he asked, "Are we okay here, or should we move on to another chamber?"

England paused a moment, listening intently in the direction they'd come from. If they were lucky, and by the sound of it they were, the well-shaft had a small drainage method at the bottom for any situations in which floodwater entered the tomb. If that was indeed the case, they would be safe two chambers away.

"We can rest here, for now. But keep a listen for anything suspicious."

America nodded, clutching England tighter to his side. "Okay."

Leaning up, England pressed a kiss to America's lips before nuzzling back against him. "We'll just catch our breath and move on once we've changed into something dry."

Closing their eyes, they let their racing hearts slow back down. Mumbling against England's hair, America asked, "England, do you know why Burton never went past the chamber with sixteen pillars?"

"No. He never said. Why?"

"I was just wondering…what if something made him turn back. I mean, no one's really ever explored this tomb much. They all say it's because it's just a mausoleum for the sons of a Pharaoh, nothing to see. But what if, a Pharaoh protects his sons more than he protects himself? What if…the water turning blood red and the fact every explorer has turned back, what if it's a curse, England?"

England frowned. "America, one freak occurrence does not a curse make. Let me know when a mummy springs to life and starts chasing us down the corridors and then we can talk."

At that moment, a loud crash echoed from the way they'd come. They exchanged a look as the rumble of it resounded down throughout the tomb walls. Something had caved in.

Warily, they got to their feet. America was shaking, but he tried to play it off. "E-England, t-take my hand, so we don't get separated."

England repressed a smile, always finding his fear of the supernatural a bit endearing. "All right then." He reached over and clasped America's hand, which was trembling a little.

"Sorry, I'm just cold."

He gave his hand a squeeze. "Once we check this out, we can change into something dry. Come on now."

With bated breath, they pushed open the door to the corridor they'd passed through. It was as they'd left it, still empty and without any sign of the water creeping through. They exchanged a glance, both of them steeling their nerve as they crossed the corridor and reached for the door to the well-shaft chamber.

They could still hear the water churning and gurgling on the other side, the two sidling together as close as possible as they dared open that door.

What they saw though, was definitely not good. While the water flow had stopped, that was due in part to the fact that the ceiling above the chamber had caved in. Copious amounts of rubble now lay around the chamber, some of it crumbling and falling into the red water below.

"We're trapped," America muttered. But then his eyes lit up as he spied a familiar brown hat wedged on the ledge by the pillar. "But there's my hat!"

He excitedly went and picked it up, plopping it onto his head triumphantly.

"Oh good," England said sarcastically. "It would be _so_ terrible if we lost that."

America pouted. "I lost my whip though..."

"I'm sure you'll live. Now can we get back to the more urgent matter at hand here?"

Adjusting the hat on his head, America replied. "You mean the curse, England? That's why this all happened you know, 'cause it's cursed."

Determination flickered in green eyes as he turned to him, "We did not come all the way here to give up. Now we are going in to get what we came here for and then we shall worry about getting ourselves out, all right?"

America smiled, pulling England against him in a one-armed hug. "Keep calm and carry on?"

England smiled back. "Quite. Are you in?"

"Of course, England. Can't have you straining your old man back or anything."

He rolled his eyes as they turned around and headed back into the tomb. "Oh hush."

As they closed the door to the well-shaft chamber, they didn't notice the shadowy figure rising out of the caved in rubble. Nor did they hear him calling out after them as they retreated further into the tomb, a safe distance away from the water.

"You should not enter this tomb!"

* * *

It was becoming a bit of a habit, really. But as England shoved him back against the wall and started unbuttoning his shirt, America decided that these mid-adventure make-outs were a habit he'd like to keep around.

Maybe it was the adrenaline rush, he wondered as familiar hands pressed against his now-bare chest. There was probably a scientific study about it. Or at least there should be. America started thinking back over all the science magazines he read, trying to remember if there had been any studies on adventuring increasing the need to… well, _get it on_.

_Considering that even working out gets serious endorphins flowing, it's really no surprise that stuff like this gets me…_ He moaned as England started sucking on the nape of his neck. That was going to leave a mark.

Forgoing his scientific pondering, America let his hands wander down the back of England's damp shirt. Once he reached the bottom, he snuck his hands up under it and splayed them against England's warm back. America could hear England's breath hitch at the touch of his hands and he grinned.

"You're gonna…" He murmured against England's cheek, words ghosting against still somewhat chilled skin, "…get sick," America kissed the corner of his lips, "if you don't get out of your wet clothes."

England's reply was a searing kiss. America chuckled as he felt England's tongue part his lips and plunge inside his mouth, and he made sure to give back as good as he was getting. Pressing back against the cool tomb wall, America hissed as England slid his thigh in between his legs.

"_Fuck_, England…"

"I rather don't…" England gasped as America groped him through the front of his wet pants. "I…fuck America, we don't have time!"

"It's not like anyone else can get in here with the entrance caved in. Oh! And it'll keep my mind off the fact that we're going to be trapped here forever by some Pharaoh's curse. That too."

England rolled his eyes. "Look, I'm sure there's a very logical reason behind all that has occurred. I personally don't sense anything off about the old magic here. The Nile flooded. The roof caved in due to the floodwaters. Some substance dyed it red..."

A mischievous grin surfaced on America's face as he rubbed forward against his partner, eliciting a moan from the other country. "Come on, England," he pleaded. "I'll put on the hat…"

He sighed in resignation, blasted imploring blue eyes always made him give in. "Why do you always make me agree to this? It's bloody…" America slid a hand down England's pants and gripped him hard. He jerked forward into the touch and gave America a glare.

"What? I am making it _hard_ for you to disagree?" America asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh blast it all," England swore. He looped an arm up behind America's neck and yanked him down into a kiss. The moment his mouth was distracted, America felt England's fingers fumbling at his belt. He grinned into the kiss and was very thankful he'd already taken off his boots. Sure enough, America's pants soon joined the boots on the corridor's floor.

He rolled to his left, taking England with him and pressing him back against the wall. America's fingers worked fast at England's shirt, practically popping one button loose in his haste.

England wrapped his arms back up around America neck and smiled. "We're both bloody mental, you know that?"

America laughed, yanking down England's trousers and tossing them aside. "You love it."

At this, England rolled them back the other way. America felt his side brush up against a statue in the corridor and he smiled up at it. "Hello, Hathor. How fitting."

Pulling back, England turned around and went to dig through their bags. "You and Hathor better not be getting _too_ friendly back there."

"Not with the view I've got," America wolf whistled. "Really, I'm sorry, Hathor. But you see that hot piece of ass over there? Oh yeah baby, totally mine."

England blushed, tossing the lube to America. "You are incorrigible."

"Well, you'd better get over here and show Hathor just how taken I am. Because really England, look at that come-hither glance she's giving me," he replied with a grin.

Returning to his side, England pressed up flush against him. He tossed a look up at the statue. "Sorry Miss, but this one's mine."

They both grinned at each other, leaning their foreheads together. America pecked a quick kiss to England's lips before shifting back against the wall. "You first, since apparently you're _quite dandy_ today."

England raised an eyebrow. "Well now…"

"Wha? That a problem?" America asked, grinding his hips against England's. The other country sucked in a breath at the friction.

"It's just…" He reached down and picked something up off the ground. Setting it atop America's head he smiled. "There. It's just… I was under the impression you'd be wearing your hat."

America winked. "Don't worry. I'll keep it on later when it's my turn too."

And without a word more, their lips crashed together in a heated kiss. Hands made quick work of the remaining pieces of clothing, and America reached down to start slicking the lube onto England's length. England bit down a moan as he pulled America's leg up to wrap around his hip. He started prepping America, slicking his fingers and pushing them inside. Moments later they exchanged a mutual look, both of them with lips parted and gasping for _something_ more. America gave a slight nod, his hand steady against England's back, as England pressed into him. He cursed and tightened his leg around England's waist and gasped; and with a kiss, he let England know that he was ready for it. He kissed America softly at that, all tenderness and love, before starting to move. They met each other beat for beat, and at some point, America's blasted hat fell off, but they really could care less by that point.

As they finished, even their ragged breaths echoed off the tomb walls. England pulled out and helped America down to the cold floor where they snuggled up against each other to keep warm. America's grin was unwavering as he traced what England was sure were hieroglyphs onto his skin with his fingertip.

"What are you writing on me?"

America smiled "What do you think?"

England shoved playfully at America's arm, but smiled all the same. "Since I don't believe there is a word in Middle Egyptian for 'stodgy,' I suppose it's something more romantic for once."

"Mrwt," America answered.

England blushed, and shyly glanced to where Hathor's statue was still watching over them. _Love. I suppose you're at fault for that, being as that's what you're the goddess of, Hathor._

"O-Oh." England leaned over and kissed him, mumbling a quiet "love you" under his breath.

America smiled. Reaching nearby, he picked up his fedora off the floor and put it on England's head. "Love you too, England."

* * *

How they managed to be so invigorated after two goes at it, England wasn't sure. He would attribute his aches and the way America kept rubbing at his backside to the tryst in the corridor with Hathor, but the fact was they were sore all over from the flooding incident and it was getting hard to discern which aches came from which activity.

Toweling off and a change into dry, clean clothing alone definitely helped though. And America insisted that they stop and eat some lunch that they'd packed. This turned out to be a stash of now slightly-smashed burgers from McDonalds that America adamantly defended would still taste great. England was about to protest this when America held up one made just the way he liked and he caved.

Leave it to America to turn him into a McDonalds loving fool.

Now feeling rather satisfied on all levels, they pulled back out Burton's rough map and tried to discern where up ahead to go.

"I say we take the left passage here, to the side of the pillared hall," America said, pointing to the wall paintings along the left side of the corridor they'd entered. "These here talk about the first son of Ramesess II."

England rolled his eyes. "America, clearly we must pass _through_ the pillared hall. In most standard tomb layouts, a pillared hall is before the main burial chamber."

"There's gotta be a reason Burton didn't go into that hall. I say we avoid it at all costs. We should go left."

"No. We need to go _through the hall_. I think I know what I'm talking about America, I was with Carter when he discovered the tomb of King Tut in 1922."

He put his hands on his hips as if this sealed the deal. America just huffed and stared him down.

"Oh yes, because it's not like I didn't help Lehner map the Sphinx or anything!"

They started exchanging accomplishments then, trying to name off bigger and better explorers and adventurers that they'd either directly or indirectly assisted on their mission. Finally, England fell silent.

"Give up?" America asked triumphantly.

"Hush a moment. Do you hear something?"

They fell quiet. Sure enough, the distinct sound of footsteps approaching came from the corridor they'd just passed through. America reached over and clutched England's hand, his free hand going for the gun he'd secured at his waist in lieu of his lost whip.

"England, do you think I can shoot a mummy?"

England held the flashlight steady as the doorway creaked open. "It's not a…"

The words died on his lips as his light skimmed over the bandaged hand that pushed the door open.

"Run!"

They turned and made a dash for the main door ahead. Scrambling with the latch, America threw a wary glance over his shoulder at the shadowed figure that was coming through the door.

"It's open, go in! Go in!" England urged, shoving America through first.

As the door closed behind them, a latch fell over onto it and bolted it closed all of its own accord. England felt a chill go down his spine at this. It was never good when a room was equipped to prevent people from leaving it. But still, it was surely just a safeguard. Nothing was wrong, and it would prevent the intruder from getting any farther.

Or so he thought, up until the moment America screamed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Alfred Jones and the Curse of the Pharaoh: Chapter 3**

**

* * *

  
**

It was a very manly scream, America assured himself. The type of scream any manly man would make when they were suddenly face to face with a skeleton. The fact that the echoes off the tomb walls made it sound more like a wail of terror was just a distortion of the sound, obviously.

Or at least that's what America told himself up until the moment he felt something grip his hand.

"Aaaahhhhhh!" He screamed again.

"It's just me, you idiot. Calm down," England's voice piped up. America sighed in relief. England was there. Everything was going to be fine. England probably had tea parties with skeletons and imaginary creatures all the time- the weirdo.

England pushed ahead, shifting around America to move the skeleton aside. At the slightest touch of his hand though, it fell to the ground and the bones went scattering all over.

"Cursed, England. This place is _so_ cursed and Burton saw that skeleton hanging here as a warning and took the hint and got out," America remarked, his blue eyes darting around the room warily.

"Or he just didn't feel like it and that was that. Tombs are often equipped with things to detour or scare off robbers and I'm sure this one is the same. I'll admit, the fact the door sealed itself behind us is worrisome, but it's nothing we can't manage to get out of when need be. Plus, it'll keep that other intruder out."

Walking at a brisk pace, England started to cross the room towards the large painting on the back wall. That's when America heard it, the resounding click and the distant sound of a sliding rock slab.

"England…" He warned. Rubbing some dust off his glasses, he looked about for the source of the sound. "What was that?"

England waved a hand over his shoulder as he started to inspect the painting. "Probably just the intruder trying to get through, that's all. Now, will you stop fussing and get over here?"

America sighed. England was right; he was all tense now because the skeleton had startled him. He was a hero. He could handle this.

Straightening the fedora on his head, America took a deep breath. He started to cross the room, and was just about to reach England, when he felt the floor tile depress under his foot. He froze.

"England. The floor."

England turned around and took a step forward. "What on earth are you talking…"

The rumbling sound this time was unmistakably inside the chamber, and both America and England glanced upwards at the reverberations. That's when a solid rock slab descended from the ceiling, crashing mere inches behind where England stood.

"Bloody fucking hell!" He swore.

"England!" America called out. He started to run forward, momentarily forgetting about the sensitive floor in his haste to reach England. Another tile sank at the weight of America's foot, and moments later a crashing thud echoed throughout the room as another slab of rock plummeted down.

England made his move then, both of them racing across the room; dodging the pillars and trying their best to avoid the rain of rock slabs as they quaked the chamber quite thoroughly.

It wasn't until England stumbled and fell that America realized what the rock slabs were meant to accomplish.

_Shit. They're meant to encase a tomb robber. Trap him in four solid walls between the pillars. The skeleton… that was probably…_

Wide eyes glanced to where England pushed himself upright from the ground, another tile getting triggered by the weight of his hand.

"England, don't move!"

A rumble announced the fall of another slab and England had no choice but to jerk back against the pillar to avoid it smashing his hands. But, in doing so, his knee triggered another.

America felt his heart clench. He wanted to run to him, sweep England up in his arms and away, safely into another chamber. But at the same time he was utterly terrified to move. If he was the one to cause England to be trapped, he would never forgive himself. And already, England was surrounded completely on three sides. One more slab and he'd be sealed in.

"America!" He called out, his voice echoing across the chamber. "Don't move until you can figure out which ones are trigger points and which aren't."

He nodded. "Yeah. Thought that might be a good idea."

England stood carefully, making certain to only put his weight on the current square floor tile he was on. Once he was standing tall again, he smiled reassuringly at America. America grinned back.

He started skimming the ground, trying to discern any differences between the tiles that might be a clue. America was squinting at a tile about four squares away when England spoke up.

"So uh…" He cleared his throat and looked at America.

Blue eyes met his imploring gaze, and immediately America knew that England was really shaken by the current ordeal. On the surface he might look calm, but his eyes were wide and his chest was heaving with uneven breaths.

"Hey England…"

"Yes?"

America smiled, trying to act as if nothing was wrong. He would keep trying to decipher the tiles, if there was any method to them at all, as a secondary effort. Right now, first and foremost, was making sure England felt better.

"When we get back, you totally gotta come with me to the grocery store. That or we'll have to live off fast food until I get another free day to go shopping."

England looked confused at first, but catching a glimpse of America's smile, he smiled back. "Don't you live off fast food anyway, idiot?"

"I have to have some nice things for when _certain people_ visit."

He flushed a bit at the implication, but America also noticed the tension easing from his shoulders as England did so. "You don't have to go out of your way, you twat."

America shrugged, his eyes darting about the floor and observing any differences in the tiles as he spoke. "Of course I do. Otherwise I have to listen to you go on about how there's nothing descent to drink in the house."

"Lipton tea is not proper tea, America."

"It is too!"

Crouching down slowly, as to not slip onto any other tiles, America glanced at a nearby tile that had small engravings on it. It was faded with time, but there was definitely something written there.

"I…I could bring over my own tea, you know?" England offered. America just knew, even without looking up, that he was probably blushing.

"No way!" America protested. He blew gently onto the floor, hoping to displace the dirt that was covering up a hieroglyph he was trying to read. "You buy all those things for me at your place; it's only fair I do the same. I'm…" America paused in his work to glance up, meeting England's eyes. "I'm trying to be better about not just...freeloading off you, ya know?"

England smiled, his eyes brightening. "Well, I… I rather appreciate that."

America grinned, wide and warm and loving. "Plus, you already brought over your extra toothbrush and you leave all kinds of stuff behind."

He chuckled at that. "I do have a bad habit of misplacing things at your place, don't I?"

"I don't mind," America replied. "It always makes me smile when I find one of your things in some weird place at my house."

"Like when you leave your shirts behind at my home?" England countered.

America laughed then, the whole dire predicament- the tomb, the floodwaters, the caved in entrance, and the falling slabs of rock- seeming miles away. It was just them, safe and sound.

"You always mend them too. I should start purposely leaving shirts I want fixed up over there."

England leveled him a look. "You mean you don't already?"

"Well…"

They eased into a comfortable laughter, both smiling and inwardly plotting to leave odd things behind just so the other could find it.

That's when they felt the impact of an explosive rock the whole room. England braced himself against the pillar, managing not to fall forward again. America staggered to his left, his foot slipping onto a tile he'd hopefully correctly pegged as safe. On stepping onto it, nothing seemed to activate and he breathed a sigh of relief. That was until another explosion shook the room.

America saw it and cried out, his eyes going wide as England's forgotten backpack by the far wall tumbled forward onto the tile.

"England, no!"

The slab slammed down in front of England's shocked face before either of them could move to free him. America raced over to the encasement, several other slabs falling from the ceiling as he haphazardly stepped on the tiles. He pounded on the stone, calling out.

"England! England, can you hear me?"

His heart thundered loudly in his ears, and the mere seconds seemed like hours, until he heard the muffled reply through the rock. "I'm all right. Trapped. But I'm all right, America!"

America leaned his head forward against the cool stone and sucked in a shallow breath. "I'm gonna get you out of there. Hero's promise, okay? I'll find a way!"

England pressed against the same slab he heard America's voice coming through, "Just tell me if there's anything I can do here to help, all right Mr. Hero?"

Pressing his hands against the stone, as if he could reach through and pull England free, America started wracking his brain for what to do.

_I think the tiles that trigger the slabs are the ones with writing in the upper left corner. The safe ones have writing in the lower right corner. Not sure about the others, but I doubt there's a way to raise them..._

"England?" He called out again, "I need you to tell me this. If you face in the direction of the entrance, which corner of the tile you are on has writing?"

"The entrance is towards your voice, right?" England asked.

"Yeah."

"I'll have to try and feel the engraving with my fingers. Not a bit of light in this bloody thing and my torch is near my bag."

America chuckled nervously. No light might mean not many holes for air to pass through; he had to think and act quickly.

"It's in the lower right from the entrance," came the reply.

"Okay," he responded, as calm as he could.

Inwardly, America started cursing. He slumped down against the slab trap England was encased in, clutching his knees up against his chest and burying his head against them. There just _had_ to be a way to get England out. Staring up at the wall painting across from him, America squinted to decipher what was written above it. Blue eyes went wide as a hopeful grin edged onto his face.

Standing, he turned and pressed back against the slab. "England, I need you to stand away from my voice. Back corner of your little square. Duck and cover your head."

"What are you…"

"Just trust me. I'm a hero, remember?"

"Just…" England smiled wryly. "I was about to suggest not doing anything stupid or rash, but I suppose these situations require those things sometimes."

"Yeah. So stand clear, hero coming to the rescue!"

Stepping back across the tiles with calculated moves, America got a good distance away before making a barreling run at the slabs. He crossed his arms up over his face and hit it hard, the rock cracking as America plowed into it. He grinned at England as debris rained down over him and his cheek started to bleed. "I thought the sound through that slab was resonating too well for it to be that thick. Anyways, I believe you called for a hero?"

He held his hand down to where England had crouched. With a shake of his head, England reached up and took America's hand. Within moments, he was swept into an embrace.

"Idiot, you're bleeding," he murmured against America's neck.

America just kissed him, pulling back and giving England a beaming smile. "Tis but a flesh wound."

He clutched him tighter at that, a smile tugging at his lips. "So, any genius ideas to get us out of here without that happening again?"

"Actually, we need to pick up our backpacks first. But yes, I think I can get us out of here. I do need to know though…" America leaned down, his nose brushing against England's. "Can you quickstep?"

"What does a bloody dance have to do with…"

"There is no way to cross the floor without triggering some of the slabs. But! If you do something that seems to resemble the dance moves to a quickstep, you can avoid being near any of the falling slabs."

England laughed, all warmth and life, against America's shoulder. He just smiled wider at this. "And _you_ know the quickstep?"

America shrugged. "Saw it on 'Dancing with the Stars' last week."

"Oh, of course," England teased. He shifted their positions so they were posed to dance. "Well then, I suppose we're dancing ourselves out of this mess."

America pecked a kiss onto England's nose. "Yep. On my count then?"

England nodded.

"Five, six, seven, eight…"

And off they went- slow, quick-quick, slow, quick-quick, steps across the floor. In their wake, slabs crashed to the floor. America reached down and grabbed up his backpack as they danced their way past it. He secured it on England's back as they kept up their tempo, never missing a step as they quickstepped across the floor. As they reached the wall, England snatched up his bag, pocketed his flashlight, and lifted the backpack to slide it down onto America's shoulders.

With a few more well placed dance steps, they reached the far doorway and America looped his arms firmly around England's waist as the older country loosened the latch and used a pocket knife to break the wax seal. Pushing through into this new corridor, they smiled. It was a simple, crudely hewn, corridor. Nothing fancy was going to trap them here.

Once the door was secured behind them, and their backpacks set down, America pulled England back against him in a hug. Resting his chin atop England's head, he huffed out a breath of air that ruffled the Briton's hair.

"America?" He queried.

"Hmm?"

"What are you…"

"Just…" America trailed off. _So glad you're safe. That's all._ "I just needed this. That's all."

"I suppose I can't argue with that," England replied, shifting in America's arms to face him and hugging him back. As he pulled away, he gently ran a finger over the gash on America's cheek. "Let's get that tended to."

He smiled, leaning his cheek into England's touch. "Tend away, England!"

* * *

"He's _so_ out to get us, England. There's no use pretending otherwise!" America said, gesturing with a homemade sandwich in his hand.

England rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. It's clearly nothing of the sort. You are just overreacting, as usual."

"England, does _this_ look like I'm overreacting?" He retorted, lips drawn into a firm neutral expression and eyes serious.

"Oh come now, it's not _that_ bad. Really."

America gave him a look as England bit into his sandwich. After he chewed two bites, a frown surfaced on the Briton's face.

"All right. It's…bad," he relented.

"Ha! Told you so," America taunted. He put down his sandwich and started to rummage through the backpack for something else to eat. "I just cannot believe that we've been _plagued_ with this, England. I mean seriously? Vegemite? Not cool, Australia. Totally not awesome at all!"

"I'd prefer Marmite, personally." England replied. "But…"

He paused as they heard a distinct rumble from the direction of the pillared hill. The two of them exchanged a look. Without a single word, they hastily packed up their dinner and grabbed up their bags.

England was just about to reach over and take America's hand, ready to make a run down the current corridor they occupied if the intruder came through the door. But that's when he heard America's voice loud and clear _narrating_ again.

"And so, Alfred Jones has found himself in yet another perilous predicament! Bringing you awesomely up to date on the dashing heroics of everyone's favorite hero, I will quickly tell tale of what has befallen our brave and daring adventurers so far!"

"America…"

"Hush!" America said, holding his recording device closer to his mouth. "After gathering the information and resting up, our dynamic duo entered the tomb of the sons of Ramesses the II. They have since ventured further into this tomb than ever before… But! In doing so, they have awoken a deep and powerful curse: the curse… of the Pharaoh! A curse that is now taking its toil on our courageous explorers.

They have foiled the flood, bested the bloody waters, feared not the fearsome mummy come to extract his vengeance upon them, and prevailed over the pillared room full of deadly traps!"

"Oh dear God, America!" England cut in. "Will you stop with the comic book blow by blow and give me your bloody hand so we can make a run for it?"

America was about to protest, but the crashing sound of something…or someone coming through the door back down the corridor from them made him think better of it. It appeared that the intruder had made it through the pillared room. Switching his recorder off, he pocketed it and firmly clasped England's hand. America twined their fingers together and gave his hand a squeeze.

"Sorry. A hero must keep track of his heroic accomplishments."

England chuckled and rolled his eyes; leading the way as they started to make a run down the long corridor. "You mean embellish them?"

They paused as England fumbled with his pocket knife, cutting the wax seal away from the door they approached and raising the latch.

America was shaking a bit, warily looking back at the shadow of the…person, mummy, whatever that was coming down the passageway. "O-Oh come on, England!" He laughed nervously. "You can't tell me Robin didn't embellish a bit on tales about him and Bats. I mean, Batman would embellish if he wasn't so busy _brooding_ and being a stick-in-the-mud all the time."

Yanking the door open, the two hastily went through and slammed it closed behind them. "Are you implying…" England spoke amidst ragged breaths, "that certain _types_ of people do not embellish?"

They rounded a hard left into a small chamber, and on seeing no other passageways from there, backed out of the room and continued down the hall. The shadows of the statues in their flickering flashlight cast across the floor. America gripped England's hand a bit tighter as each shadow flickered closer to them.

"I'm just saying I want this to sound _awesome_, not _stodgy_."

"Since when is Batman _stodgy_?"

America laughed. "Oh come on, you know the Robins all think he is. At least Tim Drake would. Totally. Okay, and probably Dick too. And Stephanie. And…"

"America…" England warned. "You're rambling about comics again."

"Ah sorry."

They skidded to a halt at the end of the hall, three archways in front of them. None of the entrances had a door blocking them, just engravings on the frames.

Turning to England with a grin, America said, "Pick a door, any door."

"Shall we turn left then?" England asked, pointing towards the entrance that had cartouche with an Egyptian Scarab engraved on it.

America let go of England's hand and held out his arm. "Sounds good to me."

England smiled back and linked his arm through America's. Arm in arm, they strolled through the archway.

------------------------------------------------------------------  
After getting at least several corridors south of where the pillared hall, and subsequently, the intruder was, America had relented to England's request that they pitch their sleeping bags to rest for the night. Thankfully, they'd found a small chamber with a bolting door that seemed like a secure enough location for it.

"England, are you sure that we're safe? I mean that mummy can probably walk through walls and…"

The older country rolled his eyes. "America, first off it's not a mummy. It's some intruder probably here after Professor Hamill's quarry. Secondly, and shouldn't you know this with all your rubbish pulp novels, I don't believe mummies- _not that it is one_ - can pass through walls."

"But if it's like a g-ghost, then…"

England dropped his sleeping bag into a heap in the corner at that, and with a huff, he turned to place his hands on America's shoulders. "Come now, America. Everything will be quite all right."

He smiled tentatively at that. "You gonna be my hero tonight, England?"

Cheeks pinking, he crossed his arms and looked away. "I suppose I don't have much of a choice then. One of us has to be bloody sane about these non-existent poltergeists."

America pecked a kiss to England's cheek at that. "Thanks. Not that I'm scared or anything, I'm just…concerned! For both of us!"

England bent to lift up his sleeping bag, and was just starting to lay it out next to where America's was, when some_thing_ wriggled from near the top opening of the sleeping bag.

"Bloody hell!" He swore. Rushing over to the door they'd just secured, he began opening all the latches as quick as his fingers would allow.

"England, what's wrong?" America asked, hastily coming over to his side.

He opened the door and tossed his sleeping bag out onto the corridor floor. "A snake. It just had to be a bloody snake!"

Sure enough, a large, brown cobra slithered out and froze on seeing the two countries looking at it. It started to hiss, its hood opening up. Not wasting any time, America pushed past England and slammed the door shut.

"There. Cobras outside, us inside."

England let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Christ, I hope there aren't any others…"

America, full hero-mode on, swept around the small chamber. Rustling amongst some of the small shabti figures, he didn't' find anything worrisome- alive or dead.

"We're okay, England. But uh…" A lopsided grin surfaced on his face. "Looks like we're sharing my sleeping bag tonight, huh?"

Brushing past him without a word, England slipped off his boots and slid into America's sleeping bag.

"It's gonna be a bit tight…" America said warily.

Adjusting the pillow beneath his head, England smiled up at America and patted the small amount of space next to him. "Oh don't give me that rubbish; I know you love to cuddle."

Yanking off each of his boots and plopping them down next to England's, America dimmed their lantern slightly before tossing his hat aside. Slipping into the sleeping bag alongside England, he murmured. "Nu-uh. That's you."

His actions betrayed his words though as he wrapped his arms around England, nuzzling his head into the crook of England's neck.

"It's a manly cuddle, is that better?"

America pecked a sleepy kiss to England's lips and snuggled closer. "Very manly cuddling," he yawned. "I like that."

The older country just chuckled and pressed a light kiss to America's lips. "I see."

"You gonna keep the mummy out with some sort of voodoo spell?" He asked sleepily.

"If I say yes, will you sleep soundly?"

"Maybe…"

England absently ran his fingers through America's hair before cuddling back, just a bit. "I'll handle it, Mr. Hero, so you can get your beauty sleep."

America chuckled. "Thanks. Goodnight, England."

"G'night, America."

* * *

  
Notes:  
[1] Vegemite is a dark brown Australian food paste made from yeast extract.  
[2] Marmite (a British product) is a sticky, dark brown paste with a distinctive, powerful flavour, which is extremely salty and savoury, somewhat comparable to soy sauce.  
[3] In Egyptian hieroglyphs, a cartouche is an oblong enclosure with a horizontal line at one end.  
[4] Shabti, as they were called during the New Kingdom, are funerary figurines that were placed in tombs among the grave goods and were intended to act as substitutes for the deceased, should he/she be called upon to do manual labor in the afterlife.


	4. Chapter 4

**Alfred Jones and the Curse of the Pharaoh: Chapter 4  
**

* * *

England was awoken by a shift in the lighting. At first, he speculated that America had turned up the lantern to dig around in his backpack for something. But that theory was quashed as he felt America's firm arms wrapped around his back and waist and his content puffs of breath, warm against England's neck.

He smiled, reaching up to run fingers through America's hair before he reluctantly pulled away. America let out a low whine as England stood up, and it almost made him get back in the sleeping bag with him. But he was up and America should get up soon anyway.

Green eyes flickered around the small room, a bit perplexed on seeing that the lantern was just as dim as it was the night before. Then, he noticed it. A tiny pinprick of light coming from the uppermost corner of the ceiling. England crossed over as near as he could to it, and glanced up.

It was intentional, something that for whatever reason, the ancient Egyptians had designed when they built this room. He marveled at that, sorely wishing he had a ladder or some scaffolding to climb up closer and inspect it. It was always such a joy, after all the years he'd lived, to find wonder in something an ancient culture had accomplished.

"America?" He said.

His reply was a snore and the sound of America shifting in the sleeping bag.

Shaking his head, England reached down into his backpack and pulled out a thermos. As he unscrewed the lid, he glanced back up at the square hole that was letting a shaft of daylight into the tomb. Hundreds of feet beneath the surface, and here it was, a bit of real light. He took a sip of his drink and grimaced.

"Ugh, America- this is your coffee."

"Whatdya drinking my coffee for?" The younger nation mumbled sleepily.

"Seems like Australia thought it'd be a right good laugh to switch our thermoses. Knew I'd wake up first too, the prat. He's been at this since childhood, you know. Scorpions down the back of my shirt and all that lot."

America laughed around his yawn. "I'll drink a sip of your repulsive tea if it'll make you feel better."

England put the lid back on America's thermos and handed it to him. "No need. Here you go. We should be getting up and moving on soon."

"Whoa, that wasn't there last night..." America said, awestruck.

Opening the proper thermos and downing a hearty sip of earl grey, England replied, "Well, I would assume a shaft for daylight only works during the day, America."

America set aside his drink and scrambled to his feet. His grin was wide as he pointed at the back of the doorway. "No, this!"

England crossed the room to stand at America's side. Sure enough, illuminated by the very shaft of light that England had been marveling at, was a design on the back of the door.

"That is...new." He reached up to touch it, but his hand's shadow obscured the design.

"England, that's it!" America exclaimed, his grin even wider with excitement now. "The light thingy up there." He pointed to the hole in the ceiling.

"Light thingy?" England raised an eyebrow. "Is that a technical term?"

"I just made it one," he retorted, sticking out his tongue. "As I was saying, the light thingy must have little rods or something in the shaft. So! When the sun rises in the morning, light comes down it at just the right angle to create a set of shadows."

He made a shadow puppet of a bunny rabbit on the door at this, and then whisked his hand away.

"Brilliant," England gasped, piecing it all together. "It's a map."

"Huh?"

"Look here." He pointed from the side, as to not disrupt the image. "See, there are three sets of parallel lines here. Each of them goes around one of three hieroglyphics."

"Okay. I take it those hieroglyphs were carved into the door then for a reason?"

England's eyes lit up, the thrill of adventure coursing through his veins. "Remember the three archways?"

At this America's eyes lit up as well. "The one on the left..."

"Had a scarab on the doorframe," England finished, pointing to an identical scarab hieroglyph on the left. "What if...someone came into this tomb. Knew all about the traps up until this point, but..."

"But they got lost. Because, let's face it, there's a hell of a lot of passages and rooms out there. By our estimate last night, there was..."

"At least thirty," England finished. "Thirty rooms down this corridor, since there were fifteen doors on each side of the hall."

"England, didn't some of Ramesses the II's kids die before him? What if, he gave himself a map to find his way to visit his sons' tomb?"

They grinned at each other, so proud to be deciphering this mystery.

"And only the people who constructed this, the priests who buried the sons here, and the Pharaoh himself, would know to look for these maps at dawn."

"Do you think we can figure it out, which passageway might lead to Amun-her-khepeshef's mummy?" America asked, leaning closer to the shadow image. "That's what the Professor's notes suggested. That the Heart of Osiris 'lies sleeping with the first son of Ramesses II.'"

England padded back over to his thermos, picked it up, and poured himself a cup of tea into its lid. Sipping this, he hummed to himself in thought. "If we could just figure out what the three hieroglyphs stand for."

"Well if you stretch it a bit, it makes the sentence 'he became found' which would work with your theory that it's a map."

"Yes." England tapped his chin. "But I feel like the six parallel lines represent the three arches. Like each symbol pertains directly to one of the paths."

America tapped the scarab hieroglyph. "Okay, one by one then. The path we took was the scarab. A scarab could also, if you think about it, be a nod to Khepri, the god of the dawning sun."

"This is indeed the pathway that led us to a room lit by sunrise," he responded. "But what of the others? An ibis and a horned viper."

Scrunching up his face in concentration, America paced the room. At one point, he snatched up his thermos of coffee and began taking sips from it. Finally, he plopped down cross-legged onto the sleeping bag.

England walked over and sat down beside him.

"If they connect with gods," he began, "then perhaps the ibis is for Thoth?"

"I was thinking that," America replied. "Plus, then we have a sun-god and a moon-god on left and right paths. But the horned viper has me stumped."

Reaching over, England rested his hand on America's forearm. "How about this: we get freshened up, new clothes and all, then we go back to those archways. Maybe there's another clue there as to which one might be the right path."

America covered England's hand with his own and gave it a squeeze. "Awesome. Let's solve this mystery!"

* * *

After getting packed up and changed, the two followed the corridor back down to the archway they'd entered through. Warily, America eyed the long hallway that led back towards the entrance.

"I wonder where he went...Maybe he's a mummy that only comes out after sunset."

England sighed. "I'm sure the _intruder_ took another of the paths. Hopefully not the correct one, because then he's closer to the Heart of Osiris than we are."

America pulled off England's backpack and set it aside. Doing the same with his own, and resting his fedora atop it, he nuzzled up behind England. Arms looped around the shorter country's waist, and his chin resting on England's shoulder.

"I'm...I think better like this," he mumbled.

England patted America's hand. The younger country was still scared of the non-existent mummy, but not about to admit it. "All right then, think away."

"Hmm..." America hummed, his breath tickling England's neck.

Feebly, England tried to tug the collar of his faded green shirt up. America just chuckled, pressing a light kiss to England's fingers, then to his neck.

"You are trying to derail my thinking, aren't you?" America murmured, warm against England's skin.

He blushed, and his hand held firm on his collar. "I am trying to _prevent you_ from getting derailed, i-idiot."

"You," America kissed one knuckle, "are," he kissed another knuckle, "no," another kiss, "fun," and one last kiss for good measure.

England turned to glare at him, and America just grinned.

"Wha? Wanna know where the burial chamber is? Well, my awesome opinion is that I don't think it's down the path we took. While the course of the sun in the sky does often parallel to the journey through the underworld, that's usually with the god Ra, not Khepri. So, for now I'm ruling the scarab out."

"You…"

"Have been thinking quite a bit, thank you very much," America retorted. He let go of England and walked over to the third archway, gesturing for the Briton to follow. "Now, we have this ibis. What's the first thing you notice about this specific ibis?"

"It's on a sacred standard. The small line is faded, but it's quite clear that the ibis is standing on one."

"Yep, so Thoth it is. Now Thoth could be our winning clue here. Judge of the underworld? Check. Connection with the story of Osiris? Double check. But…then there's that horned viper on the middle arch."

"Which is basically the Egyptian 'f' and…?" England looked hopefully to America. He knew that gleam in the younger nation's eyes. America could be quite intelligent when he put his mind to things, and this time around, it seemed he might be onto something.

America bustled over to the middle archway, crouching down to look at the small pictogram of a horned viper. His tongue poked out between his lips as he concentrated and England suppressed a smile. America was…oddly cute when he was like this.

Suddenly America let out a whoop and jumped up, turning to yank England into an excited embrace. "I've got it! England, what's the last letter in Amun-her-khepeshef's name?"

"It's the 'f', but still why would that be…"

"It's a trick, making the right answer the simplest one. But both of the other hieroglyphs are tied to gods, and the kids of Pharaohs were never deified like their dads. The simple 'he' or 'f' in the middle is for the sons. It _has_ to be. I can just _feel_ it."

England smiled and slowly pulled away from the embrace. "Well then, Mr. Hero. If you are so certain, then we'd best get a move on."

There was tinge of hope in the air now and they both had a little more spring to their step as they gathered up their belongings. America proudly put his fedora back on and shot England a cocksure grin. For once, England didn't roll his eyes. America had earned at least that.

Entering the archway side by side, they took note of the carved relief on either side of the hall. A scene of the gods, as always, but it was once again a bit of Osiris's story. Their hopefulness swelled, both of them exchanging smiles in the dim beam of the flashlight.

"I think perhaps you might be onto something, America." England complemented.

If possible, America smiled all the brighter. He rushed ahead to the next archway, pointing to the inscription there. "Look, this carving shows Amun-her-khepeshef with his father!"

He spun around in excitement, his fedora falling to the ground on the other side of the archway. As he walked forward to retrieve it, England saw it. The ominous glint of _something_ as he turned his flashlight's beam up ahead.

"America, don't-!"

His warning came too late as America's scream echoed off the tomb's walls. England dropped his backpack and rushed forward, clutching desperately at America's shoulders. It was another trap laid for tomb robbers, a wire just at neck's height, set to decapitate anyone who dared trespass. America had walked right into it, the wire now imbedded in the tender flesh of his neck and blood trickling down to stain the khaki of his shirt.

"Don't move, by God, just don't move," England rushed out in a single breath. "The slightest twitch and that wire goes into your windpipe."

America's eyes were pleading, wide and terrified; England felt his heart clench in terror. He hoped now for a different reason, a hope that America would be all right.

"Now stay still, I'm going to get a pocket knife to cut the wire off the wall," England shakily said, slipping a hand into the top of his boot for the knife. He quickly drew it and cut the wire free. It hung now, dangling sickeningly, from where it was lodged in America's throat.

_Oh God, please. Please let it not be dire._ England took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself. He had to remain level headed. America _needed_ him.

Trying his best to keep his flashlight steady, England gently gripped the wire between thumb and forefinger. "I'm so sorry, this will hurt."

As tenderly as possible, he yanked it free from where it was imbedded. America whimpered as England held his gaze. "Just hold on. It'll be quite all right."

Once it was free, England let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He reached out, clasping at America's shoulders once again. "Sit down. I need more light and the first aid kit."

All his words were a rush and England almost dreaded what more light on the injury might reveal. Slowly, he helped America ease to the ground, the younger country's eyes still just as wide and frightened. America's heart was hammering against his ribcage and he shakily reached out to clutch at England's arm before he drew away.

"E-En…"

England closed the space between them, dropping to his knees and holding America gently. "Hush. You cannot talk until I get you patched up, all right? I don't want you to make it worse running your mouth about how awesome you are."

America managed a weak smile at that and the tiniest nod of his head. England kissed his forehead before pulling away, tearing through their backpacks to unearth the first aid kit and lantern.

Lighting the lantern as bright as he could, he brought it over and set it next to America. He knelt beside him and inspected the wound, probing it very gently with his index finger.

"Thank God," he breathed out in relief. "It's not as deep as it looked."

Holding the gash closed with his left hand, he rummaged through the first aid box with his right. Setting aside some butterfly bandages, he stood and fetched a canteen of water and a small handkerchief. Wetting a corner of the handkerchief, he was about to cleanse the wound, when England felt the tap on his arm.

"America?"

Slowly, America tugged England's bare forearm flat in front of him, and he started to trace something out with his finger.

England recognized it right away. He was writing hieroglyphs again, like he had after they'd…_well_. But this time, England suspected America was trying his hardest to keep his mind off the situation at hand. Focus on remembering the pictograms and writing them out, instead of freaking out over the bleeding gash in his neck.

Using his free hand to start dabbing the wet cloth to the edge of the two inch cut, England also focused on deciphering what America was writing on his skin.

"Inm?" He asked, wiping the blood off.

America's finger tapped again before tracing out the hieroglyph once more. England felt a frown tug at his lips, but he let it slide.

"Inh? _Eyebrows_? Is that it?"

The slight smirk on America's face answered him 'yes.'

England was about to pull his arm away, when America started tracing out another word. This time, England knew immediately what it was.

"Pry? For hero? You, I assume?"

At that, America traced the two hieroglyphs again. Together.

England got it now. There wasn't a word for his name in hieroglyphs. It just figured America would use _eyebrows_ in lieu of it.

"So…" England started as he pulled his arm free and worked to deftly secure the butterfly bandages over the gash. "I'm your hero, hmm?"

"Eyebrow hero," America whispered. "That's you."

Smoothing over the row of bandages, _too many bandages_, on America's neck, England finalized his handiwork and leaned forward to place a kiss atop the middle bandage.

"How are you feeling?" England queried as he reached for the roll of gauze.

"Like I just got a really bad paper cut," America said. "Lucky for me, this stodgy guy jumped in at the last minute and saved my neck." A beat. "Literally."

England shoved America feebly in the arm. "Well, if you are feeling up to punning again, you must be all right."

He started to wrap the gauze around then, tight enough to hold but loose enough not to cause any undue pain on the already tender neck. Once he was satisfied that America was as well-tended to as he could possibly be, England closed up the first aid box.

"There. All done."

America's arms swept around him at that, lifting England up as America got to his feet. Clutching him close, America murmured into England's hair. "Thank you, so much."

England trailed a hand gently across America's gauze covered neck, finally reaching up to cup America's cheek. "Scared me half to death, you know that?"

America chuckled, the twinkle of mischief back in his eyes. "Sorry 'bout that. I'll try not to do it again."

"America, you wouldn't be you if you weren't doing _something_ reckless." England pecked a gentle kiss to his lips at this. "Now let's get your bloody hat and move forward. They wouldn't trap a path that _didn't_ lead to the burial chamber. So…"

"I was right?" He asked, hopefully.

"Yes." England smiled. "You must be."

* * *

They walked forward slowly, keeping the lantern out and holding hands. As they strolled along, they peered into each of the doorways they passed. Each of them showed signs of burial gifts, which only made them more hopeful that the next doorway was the right one.

When they came to the end of the hallway, disappointment had overcome them both. Not a single doorway led to the burial chamber. They'd come here, America had been injured, all for naught.

Looking behind them, America sighed. It was a statue of Osiris. When they'd first spotted it, they'd rejoiced, thinking it to be a sure-fire sign that they were on the right path.

Now, the roughly hewn stone statue seemed to mock them.

"There must be a hidden chamber. We'll just have to re-check all the rooms, see if there are any loose tiles in the floor or walls," England remarked.

"But we haven't encountered a single trap since the wire!" America huffed. "You would think after that it'd be _easy_."

He rested a hand on the statue at that, a bit forcefully, and it shifted. Both England and America's eyes shot wide.

"Did it just…"

"It moved! England, this is it!"

America beamed, giving England a quick hug before they both turned towards the statue. Pressing their hands against the stone, they looked to each other.

"Ready?" America asked with a grin.

"Do you even need to ask?" England teased with a smile.

"Then let's go!"

With a great heave, they pushed into it, the Osiris statue moving inward to reveal an elaborate room.

All of it was there, America noted with glee. The canopic chest in the corner, the offerings of food, a very realistic looking stuffed duck, wooden statuettes and the walls painted in barely faded New Kingdom colors- the reds, yellows and blues still so bright on the white background.

He was just about to rush over to the elaborate sarcophagus that sat in the middle of the room, so eager to find the prize they'd been seeking, when he heard the door slam closed with a menacing thud.

"You have disturbed my resting place, human."

America whipped around at the threatening voice, drawing his gun from where it was holstered at his waist.

His eyes went wide as he stared down barrel of his gun.

His trembling gun which was now pointed directly at _England's_ heart.

But with blood red eyes and a cruel smile, this wasn't England… anymore.


	5. Chapter 5

**Alfred Jones and the Curse of the Pharaoh: Chapter 5**

**

* * *

  
**

"E-England?" America queried.

It had to be a joke. A trick of the light. Something, _anything_, but what it seemed.

But as England's body started to spasm, his mouth opening in a silent scream, America knew that this wasn't some sort of joke. He was just about to drop his gun when he watched the face he knew so well and dear, _as England's_, before him twist into a sinister sneer. America felt his heart drop.

"Is that what he is called; this mortal shell that I, the ruler of the lands, have taken my rightful dominion over?" The possessor spoke, using England's lips. He cackled, low and deep and menacing. "Although I am not familiar with it, a quick glance into this _England's_ mind has told me what you are directing at his heart is a weapon."

The lantern America had set by his feet when they'd first entered flickered. In that moment, he moved, darting forward and twisting America's wrist. The gun fired, and America eyes went wide in horror as he saw the bullet graze England's arm. Behind him, his fedora fluttered to the ground.

"England!" America yelled out, trying to jerk his gun hand free. Blood started to flow down England's arm, but the evil that held him hostage paid no heed.

Red eyes loomed in his face, cold and calculating. "England, as you know him, is no longer here."

It was England's body pressed against him, but not England. His face so close to America's, but it was not his warm green eyes or perpetual little frown. And America realized with a sharp gasp that he had absolutely no idea what to do to save England, or even if it was already too late. He was a hero! He should be able to do this.

Swallowing hard, he met the scarlet gaze. "Let him go."

"You cannot harm me," the deeper timbre of voice said with an air of amusement, England's distinct accent now gone. "I have now seen what you and he are. Immortal. I could not have _wished_ for a better body to be my host. But I cannot understand what this business of countries has to do with it. You will explain it to me, boy."

As much as it hurt him to do so, America shoved England's body in the chest. He started to lift the gun again, hoping that this…_whatever_'s lack of knowledge on the gun would give him an edge. It was the only hope he had.

"No! I'm not helping you-"

America gasped as his wrist was twisted painfully. At first, he thought that this evil force, was trying to disarm him. But once America stopped fighting his hold, he let his hand go, gun and all. "I would be more concerned with this unknown weaponry, but if you feel even half as strongly as this England does for you, I know that you will not harm his body. How lucky of me to find a body so _useful_."

Rage flickered into blue eyes at that. And America rushed forward, slamming his hand on the side of England's head. It pleased him to see the slight jolt of uncertainty in those unbefitting red eyes. He might be terrified. Dealing with ghosts or mummies or whatever this was. Terrified that England was in grave danger of never coming back. But America was not about to let some two-bit excuse for evil use his feelings for England against them.

Narrowing his eyes, America spat out his words, "I don't care who the _fuck_ you are. You can be a god, or a Pharaoh, or some ancient evil risen from beyond the grave. And I honestly couldn't give a damn what you want right now. Because listen here, Mister! If you don't get your slimy, disgusting, high-and-mighty ass out of _my_ England's body this very moment, then you'd better believe I will find a way to _make you_ without harming a single hair on England's head. Hero's promise!"

Red eyes narrowed, and England's distinct eyebrows furrowed. Then with an unnerving smirk, he licked his lips - _England's lips_ – and leaned in towards America's body.

America went tense at how wrong it all was; the way he trailed a hand up America's side, before reaching out and cupping his face. But the eyes that looked into his were not loving like they usually were. Now they were dark and cruel and…just _not his England's_.

The touch was rough against his cheek and he smacked the hand away. "Don't you fucking dare," America swore. "Let him go, _now_."

England's expression turned sly at that, as he slithered out of where America had pinned him by the door; striding with purpose over to the sarcophagus before turning back with a snap towards America.

"All right then, boy. We shall make a deal of it. I can grant your little wish, to let this sad soul free, but it comes at a pretty price. Are you willing to pay it?"

"You're a…" America clenched his fist, his other hand tightening around his gun. How had he not realized it before? This _thing_ that had England was no dead Pharaoh or ghost. He was a… "You're a jinn, aren't you? An evil spirit that came from…" His eyes darted to the duck that he'd seen on entering the tomb. "That duck. You probably killed the first human you lead into this tomb. What, was his body no use to you?"

The cock of a smile answered him 'yes.' With a shrug, the jinn replied, "That body ran right into a trap as I was trying to leave this place. Poor ignorant tomb robber got caught in that chamber of pillars." He laughed maliciously. "Left him a skeleton and went back to my first host in that small animal."

America took a deep breath. He knew what he was dealing with now, but that didn't make things any easier. Jinn were bad, truly evil beings, and if America wasn't careful the jinn might just have the dark magic needed to kill England, despite him being a nation.

Determination set on his face, America yelled back, "I've heard the legends, so you can't trick me!"

The jinn pressed a firm hand to the gunshot graze on England's arm, and America could see the body spasm in pain despite the cold and unfazed expression the jinn was giving him. "I wouldn't try anything rash, boy. I will give you an offer. But you _must_ take one of my choices or I will torture and kill this England you so love."

He gulped at that. He knew it would come to this. A choice. And England's safety was riding on it. Without any better recourse, America replied, "Only if I can offer a final choice in return if I don't like yours. Trust me, I know how you jinn work and my offer would be something I know you would approve of."

At that the jinn released England's arm and held out a hand. "A deal then, _America_."

Shuddering as the _wrong_ voice said a name it _shouldn't know_, America choked back a sob that had risen to his throat. It was _breaking him_ to see England like this, completely at the whim of another. No matter the consequences, he had to shake the jinn's hand.

"Deal," he said, steeling his gaze. He gave the proffered hand a quick shake before stepping back a few steps. "What's your offer?"

The way the jinn smiled, so twisted and nasty, should have prepared America for what came next.

"I have three offers for you, boy." At that a flame rose up to encompass England's whole body. America could _see_ him writhing in pain, but he knew he could not move. If the jinn thought he was acting against the deal, England would be killed. America clenched his eyes closed as the jinn spoke.

"Your first offer is that I leave him through the mouth. Scalding him from the inside and leaving him never to speak again."

"No," America shot back, trying to hide the tremor in his voice. "Next one?"

As those words left his mouth, England started to scream. England's _real voice_, screaming in absolute pain. America's eyes shot open in terror and he felt his heart constrict. It took all his strength not to rush to England's side.

"Your second offer," the jinn's voice spoke from everywhere and nowhere all at once; the dark voice echoing off the chamber's stone walls. "Is that I leave him through his eyes, haunting him with nothing but visions of agony, and leaving him blind- never to see again."

"No," America said, England's continued screams wrenching at his heart more and more by the moment. He felt wetness starting to prickle at his eyes and America swallowed hard. "No, I reject that offer."

The jinn cackled. England's screams ceasing as his body collapsed- like a puppet with its strings cut. Once on the ground, England started to sob. Loud, clearly in pain, and utterly _heartbreaking_ to hear; America felt a tear trickle down the side of his face as he started to shake in rage and horror. He could do _nothing_ right now without fear of recrimination on England.

"Your third offer," the jinn's voice boomed over the noise. "Is that I leave him through his ears, leaving him never to hear again. If he is lucky, I will not accidentally erase all his memories when I do so."

"No," America said firmly, ignoring the tears that trickled down his cheeks. "It's my turn now."

England fell suddenly silent, _too silent_, as his body stood tensely. America knew the jinn had to accept his offer, or England would be...

Taking a deep breath, America met the jinn's red eyes and said. "My offer. You leave England, without harming him in any way, shape or form. He is to be exactly as he was before you took over his body. And you cannot harm him in any way once you've freed him. No tricks. In return…" He felt his hand trembling and he closed his eyes, rushing out the final part he sorely hoped would save England.

"In return, take me in his place. Do with me what you will, just…_please_, let him go." So raw and desperate, America's voice hitched on the last syllable.

The room fell silent, completely, and America finally opened his eyes to see the jinn's expression. That's when the jinn spoke, "Hmm. According to this England's mind, you do seem to wield more power in the world. A deal is struck then, I accept your offer."

Once again, the jinn held out England's hand to shake on it. Trembling, America clasped it, knowing that this would be the last time he would ever consciously see England or touch him again.

"I'm sorry, England…" America murmured as the dark haze started to engulf his mind. Vaguely, he registered the sensation as if flames were licking at his feet and his eyes drifted closed. _As long as England is safe. That's all that…_

Distantly he felt someone pry the gun from his hand, the echo of a gunshot sounding off the walls. America started to fall then, tumbling down to the ground. Then hands, familiar, warm hands, were reaching out to catch him. He could hear a voice, a voice he knew and cherished, calling out.

"America! Please, open your eyes! America! Please!" England was pleading, fear raw in his tone.

This sob was real. And close, so close, to America's ear. He felt the embrace, the hands lowering him down to the floor, so he was kneeling. The kisses that were pressed to his wet cheeks as England knelt too.

With a shuddering breath, the darkness receded, and America opened his eyes. Looking back at him were two brilliantly _green_ eyes edged with tears.

"E-England?" He asked feebly, reaching up to straighten his glasses.

"Oh thank the heavens," England breathed out. He kissed America soundly at that, clutching to him with such desperation and relief. America felt his heart swell with joy. England was okay. His England was okay and alive and not hurt at all save that…

America jerked back from the kiss, his shaking hands reaching out to cup England's cheeks. "Oh god, I shot you. England, I am so sorry. I…"

England kissed him again at that. "Hush now. I know that wasn't your fault. He…He made me grab it in just the right way that it would injure me. He even told you that much, that he was trying to use us against one another."

Blue eyes went wide. "You heard everything?"

Nodding feebly, England shifted on his knees to lean in closer, holding America against him. "Of course. The bastard was trying to torture me and what better way? Oh God, America…"

He pulled back at arm's length then, his hands resting firmly on America's shoulders. His lips formed into that little frown that America cherished so much more now.

"How _dare_ you try and take my place? Did you think that would make me happy?"

"England, no- I…I just…"

"Couldn't bear to see me hurt? Trust me, I know. But did you ever think that…that I would…" England sniffled, meeting America's eyes with his own, his green eyes welling with tears. "I cannot bear it either, you know. Seeing you harmed. I would sacrifice anything to spare you."

America felt a smile tug at his lips, before he leaned forward to hug England. He whispered into his hair. "I love you to a degree that is truly stupid, what can I say?"

"I suppose doing crazy things in the name of love can be excused," England replied with a slight smile of his own. "This time, that is. Let's not make a habit of it being so dangerous."

"How did you…" He glanced to the waylaid gun on the floor and then over his shoulder.

"I shot the duck, destroying the host body, while the jinn was out of my body and on its way to yours. I just…" He hesitated, "I just barely made it in time."

America pressed a thankful kiss to England's lips at that, cradling his face in his hands. "You are…well, okay, you're pretty awesome sometimes, England."

At that England flushed high in his cheeks, his eyebrows quirking upward. "Y-You really…"

"Y-Yeah, just don't… make me repeat it," America retorted with a blush.

* * *

America had insisted that he tend England's injury right away. The fact that it was a mere graze and that their prize lay only feet away didn't matter at all to him at that moment.

England humored his fuss, his arm loosely draped over America's shoulder as he worked away; watching him fondly as he diligently tended the small cut.

America cleaned the wound, wrapped it in gauze, and even pecked a kiss to his finished handiwork to help it along. Once he was satisfied, he beamed up at England.

"All better, I hope."

England let his arm trail off America's shoulder and he shifted it experimentally. "Good as new, I'm certain of it."

Timidly, America lowered his gaze, his voice a quiet mumble. "Are you sure he didn't really hurt you? It's just..."

A firm hand pressed against America's chest, right over his heart. "I'm all right now, I promise you." America started at that, about to protest, but England cut him off. "Now don't you worry. Mind you, I didn't have a wire about slice through my neck earlier. We've both had our fair share of scrapes. What matters now is that..."

"We're both okay," America finished, a smile starting to tug at his lips.

"Quite." England returned the smile. "Now, if you're done playing doctor, shall we get to why we're in this bloody tomb in the first place?"

America got to his feet and pulled England up after him. "Sounds good to me. Ah, wait!" He rushed over then to his fallen fedora, picked it up, and rushed back to plop it onto England's head.

"What are you…"

He beamed. "I think you've earned it."

England huffed and crossed his arms, turning away in an attempt to hide his blush. "Fine, but only because you've been all…well…"

"Heroic?" America supplied, blue eyes twinkling with hope.

With a sigh, and a tiny hint of a smile, England relented. "Yes, well…I suppose what with the facing off with a jinn and getting your neck sliced and all that would indeed classify as stupidly heroic."

America wrapped an arm around England's shoulders and pulled him against his side. "And who shot the evil duck and got me all bandaged up?"

England looked up at America, a contented smile easing onto his lips. "We're quite the team, aren't we?"

"America and England- masters of stupid heroics. Not sure I like the ring to that, but it suits us all the same!"

They basked in each other's smiles for a moment, letting their arms linger around one another as they fell into a comfortable silence. England leaned his head over against America's side, the fedora tilting up at an angle as he rested it there and gazed about at the room's decorum.

"I didn't have a chance to look around before that whole…jinn business. This chamber is really quite beautiful, isn't it?"

The lantern lit the room well, all its beautiful colored paintings, carvings and adornments a wondrous sight. The two countries stood there for a moment just taking it all in. Everything from engravings on the edge of the titles on the floor, to the gorgeous carvings on the walls, to the vaulted ceiling painted with a star design, were embellished to quite an extent.

The sarcophagus before them was a large stone rectangle. Inscribed on it was the son's name, Amun-her-Khepeshef, images of and prayers to the goddess Nut, and to the gods Thoth, Anubis and the four sons of Horus.

Any tomb robber would start stripping the place bare, but America and England were not going to take more than one small thing out of this tomb. Without a word, they caught each other's glance and both turned towards the sarcophagus, placing their hands upon its lid.

With a heave, they shifted it slightly. Not enough to topple it off, but enough that they could peer inside. America jolted at the first sight of the mummy encased in the linen wrappings, but England reached over and clasped his hand.

"Come now, no more rubbish about curses and living mummies. I'll give you the tomb traps and the jinn, being as I was at the receiving end of more than one of those, but there's nothing to fear here."

He squeezed America's hand at that, and America squeezed England's hand in return.

Together, they reached into the coffin. Lying right on Amun-her-Khepeshef's chest was a golden heart. To anyone less informed, it would seem nothing more than the standard heart amulets that were often found with the deceased to help aid them when their heart would be weighted in the afterlife. But America and England knew what this heart really was. The Golden Heart of Osiris. The fourteenth piece.

They clasped it simultaneously, both of them grinning at each other as they lifted it out of Amun-her-Khepeshef's crossed arms.

"We did it," America said in awe. Handing off the heart fully to England, America lifted him up in his arms and spun around with him. "We did it England!"

England wrapped his arms tight around America's neck, the Heart of Osiris clutched triumphantly in his hand. "Yes we bloody did!" He cheered back.

The two nuzzled their noses together, before America let England down again. Pecking a light kiss to his lips, America rushed over to their belongings and pulled out a small wooden box they'd brought with them to help transport their prize home in.

England joined him, holding out the golden heart with both hands. With an air of excitement, they packed the heart away carefully, closed back up the sarcophagus and gathered up their things.

England kept shifting the fedora on his head, but he couldn't keep the satisfied expression off his face. America was just beaming, radiating pure joy and accomplishment. Hand in hand, they cast one last glance over their shoulders into the burial chamber.

"Hope you're living it up in the afterlife, Amun-her-Khepeshef," America remarked.

England chuckled. "Oh yes. Goodnight, sweet prince."

They closed up the hidden door behind them, leaving the statue of Osiris to guard the chamber once more. As they made it about mid-way down the corridor, they broke into a run. Their joined hands swinging back and forth between them as they rushed happily down the hallway.

Even the pillared hall was no match for them now, America bowing with a flourish and holding out his hand to England. The two once again dancing their way across the booby trapped titles to safety on the other side.

Exiting that chamber laughing and smiling and so glad they had done it- all the trials and tribulations to get there aside- they didn't hear the other set of footsteps approaching.

It wasn't until it was too late that either of them noticed that they were no longer alone.

As they rounded the corner to the hallway leading back to the entrance, they ran directly into _someone_.

England lost his hold of America and stumbled back. America too, was about to tumble backwards, when a _bandaged hand_ reached out to steady him.

The Brit swore. _Bloody hell. So much for getting out of here scot-free_.

* * *

  
Notes:  
[1] Jinn are evil beings of flame or air who are capable of assuming human or animal form. Jinn delight in punishing humans for any harm done them, intentionally or unintentionally, and are said to be responsible for many diseases and all kinds of accidents.  
[2] "If you follow a duck inside a tomb- the duck will try and lead you there- a spirit will jump out of the duck... and take control of you." pg. 184 from _The Lost Tomb_ by Kent R. Weeks.  
[3] Heart amulets were used on the mummy to protect the owner's organ and to ensure that his heart gave a positive response at judgment in the afterlife.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Here's the finale! Thank you so much to everyone who has commented so far. Each and every comment has meant the world to me.

* * *

**Alfred Jones and the Curse of the Pharaoh: Chapter 6**

* * *

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. A sharp, quick – thump, thump, thump, thump. A tingle, a chill, going up his spine as the hairs prickled on his arm.

The mummy had captured him. There was no way out. America closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

_I can handle this. If I just stay cool, I can easily save the day. I'm a hero after all. And that's what I do! Plus, I can't have the __Amazing Adventures of Alfred F. Jones__ end with this! A hero creates his own endings, and this one is going to be awesome!_

With the rise and fall of his breath, he listened. _Intently_ listened to all the sounds around him as he sought out every minute detail. He could sense England behind him, feel the bandaged hand wrapped tightly around his wrist, and through that bandage America could feel a steady pulse. In his mind, he laid out his moves. Within a second he acted on them.

"Ha!" America's eyes flashed open, bright blue and determined.

He reached behind him, and with a flourish, he grabbed the fedora off England's head and whipped it around in front of him to block the mummy's vision.

"Let us go now or I'll…" As he released the hat, he reared back a fist, ready to punch the moment the hat fell completely.

"America, stop!" England's voice cut through his focused thoughts, his firm grip catching America's wrist right at the last moment.

"England, he's…he's…" Blue eyes went wide as the fedora tumbled to the floor. "...Turkey?"

The bandaged hand released America's wrist to reach up and pull a white mask off his face. "Yah know, considering yer own bandages it's stupid to be freaking out over mine. Jeez, ain't you ever seen a bandaged head before?"

America blinked, taking it all in. It was Turkey, their fellow nation, all right. His head was swathed in white bandages, as were his two hands, and when he had his white mask on it did rather look like a mummy come back to life. But here, in the light of both Turkey's lantern and England's flashlight, America could see that it was all just an illusion.

He started to laugh. "I thought…I thought you were…Oh never mind!"

England sighed, picking up the fedora and stepping forward beside America. "Turkey, what are you doing here anyway?"

"I'd invited Japan down to Egypt to tour the Valley of the Kings when I overheard that that bastard Greece had never done so. Got here the night before to check the place out and figure out the best places to go." Turkey pointed down at his dusty pants and hoodie and his bandages. "As ya can see, got caught in the rains and the tomb near here's floor caved in. Fell right thru the roof into this one."

"KV 6 caved in?" America asked, looking upwards.

Turkey shrugged. "I ain't got no idea what it's called, but it was right above that pit o'water I saw you two across. At least I figured it was you two at first. I mean, with those eyebrows, it's only a few unfortunate countries it could be. And only you America would go adventuring dressed up as your Hollywood hero."

"Hey!" Both retorted, shooting Turkey a glare for the comments.

Turning back towards the entrance, Turkey started walking. "Come on now, Egypt's got the way in mostly dug out. Little brat. Had to promise to buy some crap souvenirs from him to get him to do it too. Then again, I suppose I owe him for using explosives to move the rubble quicker…"

"Um, Turkey?" America asked a bit nervously as he started to follow the other nation. "Did you happen to figure out why the water in that pit was…well…_blood red_?"

Turkey blinked, then rubbed the back of his neck. "Ain't got a clue. But since the water came from the flooding of the Nile, might have something to do with that."

America and England exchanged a knowing look, both of them inwardly berating themselves for not realizing it sooner.

"Well, that explains it all right," England remarked.

"The start of a flood always has the turbid red color from the silt of the surrounding lands," America recited from memory. He shook his head. "Should've remembered that. Must have been a bad flood then, I take it?"

Turkey nodded. "Yah, it's why Egypt thinks the tomb I was in caved in. Floor was weak and the floodwaters did it in. I kept coming after you two because I was hoping you had a way to call for help. Weather was so crap at the time I first fell thru that my cellphone wasn't getting any reception. Finally managed to call up Egypt and get him to start blasting away at the entrance, but I was already on the other side of that damned pit, so I figured I'd letcha know the way out was clear."

"You'll have to pardon our behavior then. We suspected it was someone with ill-intent that kept following us," England explained.

"Or someone that realized we'd snuck into this tomb without clearing anything first with the SCA," America muttered.

At that, Turkey laughed. "Sheesh. Egypt's such an uptight ass about that shit. Should be called the Supreme Council of Asshats, rather than Antiquities."

America and Turkey both laughed at that and England huffed. "I have to concur. All that bloody rubbish about wanting the Rosetta Stone back. Though at least that makes more sense than France trying to take credit for deciphering hieroglyphs first, that blasted frog! I was with Young in the early 1800s when he did his work on that. Of course, Champollion stole it and took the credit for it in 1822. Compete and utter bollocks, the whole lot of his lies!"

"England…" America said, lingering back a few steps to place a hand on his shoulder.

The Brit cleared his throat. "Sorry about that. Just…he had the same grammar flaws as Young! How on earth any sane soul could not see that thief for what he was I'll never..."

"England," he reiterated firmly, his hand sliding down England's back to clasp his hand. "It's okay."

"Sorry," England muttered, shifting his gaze to Turkey before dropping it to the ground. "Just a bit sore about it, that's all."

America reached over to where England held the fedora, took it from him and put it back on England's head. "I believe you, for what it's worth."

"And I don't give a damn either way, so you can pretend I agree with ya," Turkey added, pushing open the door into the next corridor.

There was the pit they'd been stuck in, now with scaffolding across its width so they could easily cross. A crew of workers was congregated in the next corridor, all of them working to move the rubble out of the way.

England lingered back a few steps and America, on feeling the tug on his hand, did so as well.

"What's up?" America whispered.

"If Egypt catches sight of us, our belongings might be searched for any relics. You remember how much of a hassle getting the Golden Chest of Osiris out of the country was without anyone noticing," England mumbled back under his breath.

"So, we need a distraction so we can make a run for our plane?"

"A distraction would be quite…"

He halted, first and foremost due to the sunlight beaming down on them. As their eyes struggled to adjust again to the brightness of it, the angry shouts caught their ears.

"Geh Turkey!"

"Why is it always 'Geh!' I can come and go places you know, bastard Greece!"

"Turkey-san, Greece-san, please do not fuss! I merely came with Greece-san because he was worried about me traveling here with the flooding."

America and England caught sight of the trio, Turkey having emerged to start in on a fight with Greece, who had apparently come along with the visiting Japan. Egypt was, thankfully, busy directing the workers near the entrance of KV 6 on what to do in order to preserve the carvings that weren't damaged in the collapse.

"You wanted a distraction?" America asked in a hushed tone. "I think we got one."

England smirked, clutching America's hand. "To the plane then?"

"To the plane!"

As the two made a break for it, America caught Japan's eye and gave his friend a wink. He'd have to explain what England and he were doing in the tomb to his buddy when they got together for their next video gaming weekend. He owed him at least that since it looked like Japan's trip to Egypt was going to be derailed with Turkey and Greece fussing over him.

They made it unnoticed to their plane, America hopping into the pilot's seat and England quickly settling in behind him. The engines roared to life as America patted the biplane on the side.

"All right, Ellie. Let's go home!"

* * *

After a quick stop over in Great Britain to put America's plane away in England's hangar for the time being, the two caught the next flight out of London headed for Washington D.C. Thankfully, with their high-level of government clearance; customs wasn't going to be any issue to get through with their newly acquired artifact.

The odd looks America got due to his bandaged neck were another matter entirely, since he refused to wear a high-collared shirt to hide his "battle scars" (as he called them).

But he didn't seem to mind, especially when the young boy in first class with them was asking him all about it.

"It was really an old Egyptian tomb robber trap?" The little British boy asked, his eyes wide in wonderment.

"Sure thing!" America replied, all smiles.

"Blimey!"

Beside him, England was shaking his head. He'd tried to prevent America from saying too much about their adventure, since certain matters needed to be kept secret. But between the pleading looks from both the child and America, he caved. America had been regaling the boy with tales of their adventurous exploits for over an hour now.

"And my companion here helped me get free before I could be hurt too badly! But don't worry; it'll heal up pretty quickly. These kinds of scrapes always do. But the adventuring and seeing it all just…wow, it's completely worth it. "

The boy shot a look over at England, then in a hushed whisper asked America, "Are you a Time Lord, mister? Because that sounds like something the Doctor would say!"

"What, like _Doctor Who_?" America asked with a grin.

He shot a look then at England, who had begun to chuckle. The older nation leaned forward and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Now don't go and give this idiot any more reasons to pump up his ego. The Doctor is loads more brilliant than he is."

The boy beamed, rounding towards England. "You watch it too, mister?"

England smiled, just slightly. "But of course. Right good telly, that show is."

They passed the rest of their flight with England and the child discussing favorite episodes and quoting favorite scenes back and forth. Much to England's surprise, even America ended up piping in a few times with his opinion.

_Well, well. Looks like my 'ridiculous stodgy sci-fi' isn't so bad after all, hmm?_ England thought to himself as the child and America started going on about how awesome having a sonic screwdriver would be.

When the plane landed, the boy gave both of them a hug around their legs and wished them good luck on their next adventure. Their mother gave them both a wave as she ushered him off the plane saying, "See, I told you flying would be fun. Wasn't I right about that David? Not a thing to worry about."

"Yeah! They were so cool!"

America and England shared a smile, the younger nation reaching over to clasp England's hand. "Didja hear that? We're cool. Even you, apparently."

"Ha ha," England shot back sarcastically, but the slight smirk on his lips gave him away.

* * *

"Tony, we're home!" America called out as they pushed open the door to his house. Loud explosions from a video game could be heard from the other room.

"What are you alerting him to us for?" England asked with a sigh. "You know he doesn't take kindly to me."

"Yeah, but after that incident with the time-release poison in the ceremonial mask we brought back, I'd rather him take a look at this now rather than later."

"I suppose I can't argue that, can I?"

"Would be silly to. Plus, you two are on more civil terms lately…right?"

England forced a weak smile. "Something like that."

America took out the box with the heart in it and set down his bag by the doorway. England set his bag down beside it. Without a word more, they both walked with purpose into the sitting room to the left of the entryway.

On reaching the far bookcase, America shot a glance around the room, before tugging gently on an old worn copy of Journey to the Center of the Earth. As the book slid out, a loud click could be heard. The bookshelf swung open at that and America tucked the book back away.

"After you, England."

England shook his head. He reached up and took off the fedora (which America had insisted England put back on once they got off their flight and reclaimed their luggage).

"If you insist," he remarked, putting the hat on America's head as he walked past him and down into the secret corridor.

As the neon lights on the stairwell clicked on, they illuminated all the past artifacts they'd collected that weren't displayed elsewhere in either one of their homes or a museum.

At the top of the stairs, England could hear America calling to Tony one more time before he bounded down the staircase after him.

"I cannot believe we finally did it!" America cheered, wrapping his free arm around England's waist.

England allowed himself a slight smile. "Well, we worked very hard and it finally paid off."

"You wanna do the honors?"

England looked over to the middle of the hidden room where the golden sculpture of Osiris laid, all the pieces in place aside from the heart-shaped hole in his chest.

"I think we should do it together. It only seems proper," England replied.

America beamed. "Awesome idea!"

He sat the box on the edge of the table and together they reached into it to pull the heart free. They'd encountered loads of rumors about what reuniting all fourteen pieces would accomplish. Heralds of good luck, a giant ruby or even immortality. Either way, their hearts were both beating with excitement as they settled the Golden Heart of Osiris into its rightful place with the rest of the thirteen pieces.

"Here we go!"

"Quite."

As the heart clicked into place, a blinding white light pierced the room. Instinctively, America and England both wrapped their arms protectively around each other. Moments, perhaps even a minute had passed before they dared chance a look.

Never once letting the other go, they peered over at the now slightly-glowing golden body.

"It…"

"It was true," England managed his mouth slightly agape.

Sure enough, now settled on the chest in place of the golden piece they'd just put there, was a heart-shaped ruby.

"But how…scientifically it just doesn't…" America's remark was cut off as England placed a finger to his lips.

"It's old magic, America. Science never could replicate what magic can achieve. It's just…a wonder all its own."

America's pout shifted into a bit of a worried look at that, and England quickly amended himself.

"But it's safe. I cannot feel any harmful magic here. Just…well, the story said it was made by Isis due to her love for Osiris. That's perhaps why it's the heart that changes. A symbol of her love for him, preserved for all time."

England reached over and gave America's hand a squeeze at that. "We've solved the puzzle, America. You and I did it."

His grin resurfaced then, wide and bright. "Yeah. We did, didn't we?"

They turned to one another, leaning in for a kiss, when a grumbling voice interrupted them.

"Fucking hell. This better not be as troublesome as your last treasure," Tony mumbled, shooting England a glare.

America just chuckled nervously. "Oh come on Tony, we didn't know that it was actually a piece of fallen alien technology. I mean, come on! That's totally something out of a TV show."

The alien clambered up on the footstool nearby and eyed the ruby warily. "Fucking love magic."

"Hey, why don't you put it under code 51 protection just in case huh?" America said, edging his way towards the door.

"Yes, let's not jeopardize the safety of the universe again," England replied, giving Tony a glare in return.

The alien got down from the stool and walked over to a computer panel in the wall at that, starting to punch a sequencing code in that lowered a glass box down over the entire Osiris statue. "Would be faster with my Raxacorico metal mind. Fucking primitive technology."

While Tony was entering the coding for full level protection, America quietly snatched England's hand and led him upstairs.

* * *

"So, England, it seems that you and I have a date with my newly remodeled bathroom."

England quirked an eyebrow. "Really now?"

America nodded, eyes all innocence outside of that tiny edge of mischief twinkling in the corner. "Oh yeah. We've gotta test out my new jetted whirlpool tub. And with all the grime and stuff we've got on us, I think it'll be a great test."

England let himself be led down the hallway towards the master bathroom, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "And why pray tell did you get a new bathtub? I'm certain your old one worked quite well."

"Well, first off, had it on sale. And I got a free magazine subscription for spending more than fifty bucks in their Home and Garden section."

"Aha, that tempting free stuff that you love so…"

America pecked a kiss to England's nose as he started to yank off his shirt. "Yep. Speaking of things I love, did I mention it's a two-person tub?"

England shrugged out of his shirt, his hands already working away at his pants. "I believe you missed that important factor."

"Yep, so I definitely need your help to test it out."

Starting up the water jets, America and England quickly shed the rest of their clothing and clambered into it. Both of them letting out relaxing sighs as the warm water massaged their aching muscles.

England had taken great care to settle his injured left arm on the ledge of the bath, not wanting to disrupt the clean bandages America had insisted on when they dropped off his plane.

America wasn't without his injuries either, the gash across his neck, the cut on his cheek and the scrape on his arm all bearing bandages.

As England leaned forward in the bath to run his fingers over the bandage on America's cut, the younger nation smiled at him.

"Could've been worse, you know?" He reached out then and gently laid his hand beneath the bandages on England's arm. "And I still feel horrible about this one."

England closed the space between them, pecking a kiss America's lips before giving him a firm glare. "Don't. Please, it wasn't your fault. You did everything you could to save me. Don't feel guilty."

America slid his hand up to England's cheek, resting it there. "Fine, but I get to fuss over it like you always do over my minor cuts."

"All right, I suppose I can handle that."

Sliding around the side of the tub until he was resting beside England, America wrapped an arm around his waist.

"You know, I was about to say I'm getting too old for this kind of stuff. But, I guess if you can handle it, a dashing hero such as myself can easily manage."

"Oh hush up," England retorted, but he nuzzled into America's bare side all the same.

"It was fun, wasn't it?"

England caught his gaze, all hopeful and tenative. He smiled. "Putting aside all the traps and the jinn and whatnot, well…yes, I do suppose it was rather wonderful. Then again, well…" He cleared his throat as a blush rose to his cheeks. "Being with you usually is quite… wonderful."

America's brilliant blue eyes lit up at that and the water splashed around them as he closed the space between them to pull England into an embrace.

"We're an awesome team, aren't we England?"

"I suppose we are." England rested contentedly against America. With a smirk, he added. "An 'awesome' team that is going tomorrow to the grocery store to get proper tea that isn't Lipton, remember that?"

"Oh yes, that!" America kissed him then, slow and sweet, before pulling back to pump his fist in the air. "Look out grocery store, here we come!"

England just smiled. Tomorrow would be another adventure indeed.

THE END.

* * *

Notes:  
[1] The Supreme Council of Antiquities (often called SCA) is the branch of the Egyptian Ministry of Culture responsible for the conservation, protection and regulation of all antiquities and archaeological excavations in Egypt.  
[2] In July 2003, Egypt requested the return of the Rosetta Stone.  
[3] Thomas Young was a British scientist who was famous with the public for having partly deciphered Egyptian hieroglyphs before Champollion did.  
[4] Doctor Who is a British science fiction television programme produced by the BBC. The programme depicts the adventures of a mysterious, humanoid alien (a Time Lord) known as "the Doctor" who travels through time and space in his spacecraft, the TARDIS.


	7. Epilogue

**Notes:** A continuation of the 6-part series I finished back in January. _As such, massive spoilers for those 6 chapters._ I figured with Indiana Jones!America now having an official image, it was time for me to revisit this universe.

I really hope you all enjoy. Please take the time to comment if you do! :)

* * *

**Alfred Jones and the Curse of the Pharaoh: Epilogue  
**

* * *

If there was one thing America loved more than a good adventure, it was the day after they got home. Tired, bandaged and bruised, and very thankful to be sleeping in a comfortable bed, it always managed to cause one rare trait to surface in England.

He would actually sleep in. By quite a lot and without fuss even. And America _loved_ it so much.

Loved getting to wake up before him (and not due to jet lag or time zones even) and just watching him contentedly snoozing in his arms. Loved just basking in the late-morning sunlight that drifted across his room from the window, curled up together with England and just so incredibly happy. They'd successfully retrieved the last piece of the Golden Osiris, it hadn't caused any sort of universal disturbance or Tony's alarm would have sounded in the night, and best of all- England was safe and sound beside him, little puffs of his slumbering breath fluttering his bangs as he dozed.

After their latest adventure, that last part was something America cherished tenfold. He absently traced his fingers over the bandage on England's arm and frowned. Thinking back to what had happened with the jinn the day before; America pulled England snuggly against him and kissed his forehead.

"You know," he murmured quietly, "we face a lot of scary stuff on our adventures, but that…_that_ was one of the worst."

"Tell me about it," a muffled grumble sounded from against his chest. America started and looked down. England was frowning up at him.

"You're awake."

"And you weren't the only one scared half to death, you know," England retorted, leveling him with a sincere gaze after a momentary flicker of a look at America's neck.

A tenative smile crept onto America's face. "Yeah. Yeah I know."

He cupped England's cheek at that and tilted his head forward until their foreheads rested together. "But, now that we're at home safe and sound, it was…worth it wasn't it?"

England leaned in and pressed a firm kiss to America's lips, which he returned eagerly. As they pulled apart, both of them withheld their snark about bad morning breath, figuring that they owed the other at least that.

"Of course it was worth it, you git." England replied.

America just grinned. "What? The adventure or the kissing?"

At that, England decided to forgo his earlier niceties. "Well, considering your morning breath…"

"Hey, you have it too! It's like…moldy tea or something!" America retorted.

"Moldy tea?" He cocked an eyebrow at that, then snorted. "Oh right good comeback, that one."

"Shut up!" The younger nation feebly replied, making a weak shove at England's chest. "It totally does!"

With a hint of a smirk, England started to move towards the edge of the large bed, tugging America along with him via his pyjama shirt sleeve. "Let's see to getting up and brushing our teeth, then. Can't have- what was it? – oh yes, _moldy tea_ taste preventing you from kissing me."

America wiggled his hand around until he could clasp England's hand. He gave it a squeeze and smiled. "Yeah, because I really need to kiss you some more and that's not happening if I keep getting a dose of moldy tea."

"Oh really? And is it any better for me, getting something akin to stale burgers off of you?"

Bare feet touching down on the carpet, they both turned to give each other a mock glare. This teasing was a bit of a morning ritual for them, when they were in a certain mood, and it never ceased to start the day off right. America blew a puff of air pointedly in England's direction and England crinkled up his nose.

"Toothpaste _and_ loads of mouthwash for you, I think."

They held each other's glares for a moment more before America caved, breaking into peals of laughter that England discreetly joined in on. It was going to be an awesome day.

* * *

Second only to the comforts of a bed, was the luxury of a warm shower. Having thoroughly enjoyed breaking in America's bathtub the night before, the couple still managed to take a rather long joint shower.

This was partially due to the need to carefully wash around all their injuries, and partially because America simply had to prove that post-teeth brushing his mouth no longer tasted of stale burgers. That specific exploit, and the following rebuttal on England's behalf, extended the shower length by at least another forty-five minutes.

Hair still dripping wet, and a towel hitched around his waist, America fetched the first aid kit.

"All right, all awesomely clean and ready for new bandages! Plus, I was promised to be allowed to fuss."

"I can take care of myself, you…" England was cut off as America pecked a damp kiss to his lips.

"Come on, you promised! Please? _Pretty please?_"

Never able to fully turn down America's pout accompanied by his wide, sad, puppy eyes, England huffed. "Oi, stuff it or I'll bandage your mouth shut," he shot back, but without much bite. A smile was tugging at the corner of his lips. America snapped back to his usual casual smile, pout long gone. "Right then, let's get to it. We still have things to do and it's already past noon. Though I suppose we did earn our bit of a lie-in…"

"You bet we earned it," America replied cheerfully, snatching England's hand and leading him back to the bed. "Just like we earned our battle scars, which currently need re-bandaging."

America plopped unceremoniously down, his towel hitching up to expose more of his legs as he did so. England cleared his throat and waved a hand in that direction.

"Can you cover a bit up there?" He flushed. "We really don't need anymore of that sort of distraction."

Blushing now as well, America tugged his towel back down. "Well if someone wasn't borrowing my robe…"

At that England began to fidget with the too-long sleeves of the terrycloth bathrobe he was wearing. Aside from the size, it was clearly not his, as it was monogrammed with an American flag and fancy loopy handwriting spelled out 'The United States of America' under it.

"Just a bit nippy outside the bathroom, that's all." He flushed a bit more and tugged the robe further closed. America couldn't help but grin. For all their rather intimate relations, both of them could get rather flustered from time to time over stupid little things. It was…rather endearing.

Reaching over and pulling England down into a seated position beside him on the bed, America frowned. "I should just get you your own robe to keep over here…"

If possible, England blushed even more so at this. "N-No, that's not necessary at all. Don't get me wrong, it's nice of you to loan me yours, but having one for me is really quite unnecessary."

Inwardly, America knew that this was just England being England and not wanting to admit how touched he was by the suggestion. With a small smile creeping onto his lips, he secretly plotted to order England a matching robe the next time he got the chance.

"All right then," he said starting to tug at the robe. England shot him a look.

"Am I not allowed to borrow it then?"

America's expression softened and he gave England's shoulder a gentle squeeze before affectionately trailing his hand down England's arm.

"England, I can't bandage your arm _with_ the robe on, you goof."

He had the decency to look ashamed for his misassumption, mumbling out a quiet, "Oh. Right then," before he started pulling the left sleeve of the robe down.

There, right on England's upper left arm, was the bullet graze. It was still raw around the edges and even a bit redder than usual due to the stringent cleaning they'd given it in the shower. But now, extremely gently, America ran his fingers over the raw wound.

The cut itself had swollen up around the edges, the dark red scabbing the only thing preventing it from bleeding freely. The skin all around it was still darkened pink and America sucked in a breath as he noted the slight bruising to the area.

"Oh England…"

With America's hand still resting over it, England reached up and gently pressed it down over the wound until both their hands rested lightly atop it.

"Oh hush. An adventure is really not worth having if there isn't at least a small chance of danger," England remarked, steeling his gaze. He'd lived through so much worse and survived it all. And as mad as it seemed sometimes, these little excursions let him relive a bit of his glory days, when he risked it all for a prize to take back to the Queen.

"Plus," he continued, "it's not like you walked away unharmed. Your neck looks right ghastly."

He released their hands at that to reach up and lightly run his fingertip over the jagged cut that was still leaking a bit of blood after they'd wiped it down in the shower. At least the scrape on America's cheek and arm were both healing quite well, both of them already looking more like a bit of raised pink skin rather than cuts. But as for America's neck, the tender skin there was swollen and England couldn't resist the urge to lean forward and press gentle kisses along it.

Clearing his throat, England busied himself in pulling out some butterfly bandages to seal the cut up with. "Just to help with the healing process, of course."

"Can't argue that."

America beamed, remembering how England always said that same thing when he was much much younger and had done something simple like scrape his knees. Despite all that had changed between them, as nations and as themselves, since then- America was glad to know that some of those little things stayed the same. Though he was grateful that England wasn't reprimanding him for 'being so reckless and going off on an adventure! You poor dear, you could have been killed,' like he had back then. It was much better now to have adventures _with_ England than to have England worrying about him being but a young colony out adventuring on his own.

"All right, I'll put some ointment on it first and then bandage it up, so you've got to stay still now."

With a smile, America nodded, leaning into England's gentle touch. It really hurt, now that America thought about it for a moment instead of worrying about England's injury. But he tried his best not to let any discomfort show on his face, knowing that it would only make England more concerned. Plus, he was a hero, and a hero could totally handle this!

In no time at all, England had it all bandaged back up, the soft white gauze tickling America's neck a bit as he shifted it.

"There now, all done," he remarked, "I'll let you finish up with mine now, since you insisted on fussing."

Cheekily grinning, America leaned over and pecked a light kiss to England's injury before he too armed himself with ointment and gauze and began to bandage it up. It was only a matter of time before they were both sporting white bandages over the reminders of their adventure.

* * *

After getting fully dressed, America set about fixing up something for lunch while England hung up their still damp attire from a few days before outside on the clothesline. As they both enjoyed eating food they knew wasn't spiked with Vegemite, America typed up an email to Australia to let him know they'd gotten home safely and that their quest had been successful.

England kept trying to interject gloating remarks into the email, clearly wanting to remind his former colony that while Australia was considered quite the adventurer and risk-taker's homeland, that England could more than hold his own.

"Tell him I killed a jinn's host body after being possessed and see how he likes that! Wrestling crocodiles for fun isn't much compared to that, you know."

America just snickered under his breath, but he put it in anyways, making sure to preface it with "England would like you to know…"

But, as England quickly noted, he was certain America's account of his 'heroic deeds' was no less glorifying than his remarks were. And, with a glance at his blow-by-blow comments on how he figured out the pillared hall trap and how he got his neck almost cut in two, America found he really couldn't disagree with that.

"Well, what do you expect? That's what adventurers do. They brag to other adventurers, who then see if they can outdo them on their next escapade. Plus, let's face it England, I was _really freaking awesome_."

England snorted, but still muttered a, "I suppose you were," under his breath.

After that he typed up another quick email to Japan to assure him that why yes, he had witnessed them sneaking out of a collapsed Egyptian tomb entrance and that they were safe and sound at home. He promised that he'd fill his best friend in fully come the next time they met up to play video games together.

With lunch finished and the two emails sent off, the two then ventured out once more.

* * *

The grocery store had never looked as intimidating to America before as it did now.

"Um…I'm not sure where to find these, but that's okay!" America remarked, frowning down at the list of British foods England was wanting.

England had taken off the full week to spend with him, in case their adventuring had taken longer. But now they had over a half a week left to spend together, and America figured it'd be nice to try and have a few things around his house that England _really_ liked. Plus, as he'd noted to him back when they were in trapped in the pillared hall, he really was getting a bit miffed about England always complaining about his choice of tea in the house.

America pouted to himself; he had, after all, been making sure to always have tea at home just for England. It wasn't his fault that the stodgy Brit frowned upon Lipton as his only choice.

But in all honestly, America wasn't sure where to find any of the British food items on England's list in the store. He shopped quite frequently in the international food aisle, and hadn't ever seen any of these products there. Squinting up at the aisle signs as if they would magically tell him where to find kippers and beef pasties, another thought occurred to him.

This was going to be a bit of an adventure.

He had the list, and now it was up to him and England, to track down any of these foods amongst the smattering of American goods the DC grocery store had to offer. He would have hints; considering his knowledge that kippers were fish and beef pasties were often a frozen food, he knew at least a vague idea where to start their quest.

"Are we going to stand here all day or get something to eat?" England queried, his fingertips drumming absently on the handle of the shopping cart he pushed.

America beamed at him, walking over to stand directly behind England; he wrapped his arms around him and put his hands to either side of England's on the cart's handle.

"It's adventure time, England! I have no idea where to start, so let's go!"

Steering them first towards a middle aisle, a large portion of shelves devoted to tea came into view. America knew, at least, where to find this thing on England's list.

"All right, pick out whatever is to your stodgy taste."

England frowned and shot America a glare as he walked over to the shelves and began to inspect the options. His eyes skimmed over the large selection of Lipton with disdain before catching sight of package a bit further down.

"Oh thank goodness, there _is_ something worth getting," he murmured, selecting one of the flavors of Twinings tea from the shelf.

America grinned, his arms full of more of his favorite coffee. "Grab a couple, it's not like you don't drink it all the time. You'll have plenty for when you visit then."

Suppressing a smile at the thought that America was going out of his way to assure England was as happy as possible when visiting, the older nation snatched up two boxes: one of Earl Grey and one of English Breakfast Tea.

One item down.

After indeed finding kippers amongst the fish products for sale, England had to settle for pot pies rather than beef pasties or shepherd's pies when they perused the frozen food aisle. He frowned at this, turning over the package of the pot pie warily in his hands.

That's when he caught sight of America tracing a heart on the inside of the glass door to the freezer and grinning at him like a loon.

England blushed and tossed the pot pie in their cart. "Oh stop that. People are already staring quite enough thanks to your neck."

At that, America fidgeted with his open dress shirt collar and sighed. "Well I can't wear the collar any tighter, England. It kinda hurts."

Gaze softening, England reached over to give his hand a gentle squeeze. "Don't you worry about it being visible. It's um…er…" he lowered his voice to a whisper, "quite heroic looking."

Blue eyes went wide. "Really?"

"Yes, um…." England cleared his throat. "Right then, where's the marmite bound to be?"

America allowed England to change the subject, but it didn't stop him from smiling in a totally smitten way as they searched the condiments aisle for marmite and lemon curd. Once again, England had to settle for something similar and got himself some marmalade instead.

They did succeed on the chips and crackers aisle with salt and vinegar chips, although America was still chuckling silently to himself about England insisting on calling them 'crisps' rather than chips. They had this argument at least once a month, sometimes more depending on whether or not they taunted the other about it.

As they turned towards the cookie aisle, an employee struggling with several boxes set off an avalanche of packages. America stepped in quickly, with England right behind him.

"Whoa there!"

"Pardon me, let me handle this!"

Between the two of them, they managed to save most of the packages from crashing to the ground and prevented them from falling onto a lady with a baby who was browsing nearby.

"Thank you. You have quite the quick reflexes there," the woman remarked as they helped the employee put the packages back on the shelf.

America just grinned. "You're welcome, ma'am. It comes from years of archaeology work."

She looked rightfully impressed and England cut in with a pointed cough. "Well, some good ole exploration trips too, but yes, you get the idea."

Much like the child on the airplane, she asked about America's neck and he explained. Then, to England's shock, he also noted how England had piloted a plane after being shot with a sleeping dart.

"Sounds like something out of an action movie," she said. "Well, good luck with that and thanks again!"

"Have a nice day!" America called after her as she rounded the end of the aisle.

The two countries shared a pleased smile amongst themselves before searching for the item they were looking for. Sure enough, crammed in between a bevy of cookies, was the tea biscuits England was craving.

Skimming the list over England's shoulder, America spotted the last item.

"Okay, next up- mushy…wait, what? Why would you want to eat _mushy_ peas?"

England leveled him a glare, pushing the cart out from where America was leaning on it. The younger nation stumbled a step as England retorted. "They are quite tasty once you give them a chance. Could get them at all the Pie and Pea stalls back in the day."

America grinned up at the aisle headers and pointed to the next one down. "Maybe they have mushy peas on the baby food aisle. Hey, is this because you're old and can't chew?"

"Oh belt up, will you? It's usually in the canned food section back home, so let's try there."

They scoured the rows of cans with all the attention to detail they had been using recently to read hieroglyphs, but no mushy peas were to be found.

"Ah wait, there…"

England had noted a sticker on the topmost shelf and eyed it with interest. "Not mushy peas, but still to my taste."

Standing on tiptoe, he reached up, his fingertips brushing over the dusty shelf in hopes they weren't out.

"Need a lift?" America queried.

"Well, I could always…" England cast a glance up and down the aisle to verify they were indeed alone. With great agility he stepped back, caught a glimpse of a can pushed far to the back, and made a hasty jog forward. He leapt up the shelves quickly, as to not linger too long and break them. With a triumphant smirk, he snatched the can down.

"There. Buttered peas will have to do."

America rolled his eyes and muttered "show off" under his breath. England _had_ used a similar tactic once in an old Mayan temple with booby trapped stairs, after all.

But as England added the can to the cart, America's smile surfaced again. "That everything?"

He nodded. "I've noticed you picking up things as we went, so I guess we're set then."

"Awesome. To the checkout line then!"

America raced forward with the cart, and England, shaking his head, followed after him smiling to himself. Despite the minimal selection, he thought that perhaps they should do this more often.

* * *

They arrived back to America's house to find the mail waiting for them. While America easily carried multiple grocery bags into the house, England frowned down at the medium sized brown package addressed to him seated on America's doorstep.

"Oh how on Earth does he do it? He always knows when I'm visiting you, even though I never tell him where we're staying after an adventure. I half expect him to send something via owl someday!"

Poking his head back into the entryway, America raised an eyebrow. "What, did you get a package from Hogwarts or something?"

England sighed. "No, just the Colonel again. Oh, it looks like he sent me one of his hats."

America came over and peered into the box. He gave a whistle. "_The_ Blashford-Snell designed explorer hat? The one with the mosquito net for your neck and the fancy brim that has a cooling feature when you sweat?"

"That's the one," England replied, pulling out the hat and eyeing it. America snatched it from his grip and plopped it down on his head.

"Perfect fit! That's so awesome, England! I wonder if the Colonel would send me one…"

England's eyes skimmed over the attached note from the Colonel, wishing them good luck with their adventure and hoping they'd found what they were looking for. "I'm certain he would if you asked. He does rather like you."

"Pffft. Like he doesn't idolize you. Then again, you're the only British explorer older than him, so that figures. And well," America grinned, glancing over to where his explorer hat rested on the shelf, "I do have an official _Indiana Jones_ movie prop hat, so mine's still the best."

Taking the hat back off and gently placing it back in the box, England noticed the other mail bundled with it.

"Looks like you got a letter as well."

Handing it over, America's eyes went wide at the name on the return address. He quickly ripped it open and read it over.

_America,_

_Got some good news on that lost city you've asked me to keep my ears open about, amigo. Just heard about it the other day, but I knew right away it was really good news for you so I figured I'd pass it along as soon as I could. Of course, this isn't soon-soon because you asked me to send it via the normal mail. And, like you made me promise, I respected your request and sent this via normal mail just in case some hacker got into your email or whatever those worries were. Not that I think a hacker could get into your email, considering your computer protections, but I guess you want to be extra-extra safe?_

_Anyways, I was out around Tabatinga just having some fun. Good clubs around there with some amazing samba music and dancing. I really liked the dancing. But I guess I'm getting away from the point. I overheard some people talking about this old Inca pathway they'd been exploring in Peru and how it just trailed off into the mountains. I asked them some more and they gave me a few notes about where they were and what they saw. I attached all this for ya._

_But here's the kicker amigo, they found some old gold coins. They didn't seem to think much of them, but I can tell you- those coins were really old. Like back when Portugal was still being a jerk--not that he's not a jerk now but you know what I mean--or maybe older. I included a sketch of it in the notes, all from my memory, but still I think it's a pretty good rendition. I hope this helps you out, and let me know if you need a place to stay when you're down here exploring._

_Good luck, amigo!  
Brazil_

With a loud cheer, America swung his arm around England and pushed the letter under his nose. "England, look, we've got clues! Clues for the lost city! This is so freaking awesome!"

Pulling him around, America pecked a kiss on England's lips then began a mad dash off towards his office. He paused, wheeled back around and drew England into a deeper kiss; his fingers tangling up into England's hair as they stumbled back against the wall. The letter fell waylaid to the ground as England returned the gesture, making sure to be gentle around America's neck as he pulled him closer.

A few moments later they parted, both grinning widely.

"It looks like I'll be breaking in my new hat sooner than expected," England remarked with a smile.

America just beamed. "Hell yeah, we've got another adventure to go on! But first, I gotta take care of something _really_ important."

He started back towards his office, England following behind him. "What, are you contacting that gentlemen that's given us information about the city up until this point?"

"Nah, he probably already knows. Or would try and beat us to it. But, I really need to get this special ordered _now_ so I can have it when we need it."

England frowned, already wary as to what America was up to.

"Dare I ask?"

"I gotta get a new whip off eBay since I lost my old one, of course! Luckily I know a guy that does it for all the Indiana Jones stunt performers and he always makes them top quality," America replied, still grinning.

With a chuckle, England turned to go back and retrieve his package from where he'd sat it down in the hallway. "Oh yes, can't go without that."

"Of course not!"

But as soon as his back was turned, America clicked open another tab and began filling out another special order form as well. One for a monogrammed bathrobe with the Union Jack on it.

Because clearly, England would need it after they got home from their next adventure.

THE END

* * *

Notes:  
[1] A Kipper is a whole herring, a small, oily fish, that has been split from tail to head, gutted, salted or pickled, and cold smoked.  
[2] A pasty (like beef pasties) is a filled pastry case, commonly associated with Cornwall in the United Kingdom. It differs from a pie as it is made by placing the filling on a flat pastry shape, usually a circle, and folding it to wrap the filling, crimping the edge to form a seal. The result is a raised semicircular package.  
[3] Twinings is a marketer of tea based in Andover, Hampshire, England.  
[4] A shepherd's pie refers to an English meat pie made with beef mince and with a crust made from mashed potato.  
[5] A pot pie is a type of baked savory pie with a bottom and top completely encased by flaky crusts and baked inside a pie tin to support its shape.  
[6] Marmite is a sticky, dark brown paste with a distinctive, powerful flavour, which is extremely salty and savoury with umami qualities, somewhat comparable to soy sauce.  
[7] Lemon curd is a popular spread for bread, scones, toast or muffins.  
[8] Mushy peas are dried marrowfat peas which are first soaked overnight in water and then simmered with a little sugar and salt until they form a thick green lumpy soup.  
[9] Pie and pea shops and stalls used to be a common feature on Northern streets and markets, but these days it is more usually sold in sandwich shops and "Chippies"  
[10] Colonel John Blashford-Snell is a former British Army officer, explorer and author. In 2006 Blashford-Snell helped the London hatmakers James Lock to design a hat especially to meet the needs of explorers.

Coming Summer 2010:   
**Alfred Jones and the Lost City of Gold**  
_The second installment in the Amazing Adventures Series_


End file.
